Poles Apart
by kkolmakov
Summary: This story is just an overdramatic, love and angst filled, harlequin romance novels mocking, eventual smut, in which John, who is more Thornton than Thorin this time, and my OC Wren find each other in a turbulent marriage in the Edwardian era *No Infringement Intended* The first two chapters are identical to chapters #29 and #59 in "We Are Scattered in Time and Space" COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: ****Please, read this author's note!**

**Firstly, this story was born as a parody, a spoof on those love novels with a hench bloke on the cover and a half dressed maiden with a bosom heaving out of atlas bodice trembling in his arms in a very uncomfortable position (seriously, have you seen them? :D). Its continuation, on the other hand, grew to be a bit more realistic, still very dramatic, and "slightly" angsty (if you've read my stories before, you can assume how slight this "slightly" is :D).**

**It is still pretty much romance and drama and isn't to be taken seriously :)**

**Secondly, this one is eventually to contain smut but of very specific sort, it has to do with loss of virginity. Please, be informed!**

**Thirdly, I just wanted to write another chapter for "We Are Scattered in Time and Space" and realized that it seemed to be escaping from under my control when it was already 14,500 words long and still going. So I decided to chop it into chapters and post them one by one.**

Mr. John Thorington was not looking forward to his breakfast that day. His brother, the only person with a shard of common sense in the house, was away, and John was to be the only victim of endless chatter of his sister and overbearing concern of his mother over his morning tea. Fortunately for him, the society gave both of them another topic for a conversation.

When he entered the dining room, their voices were already ringing, and he winced. "He cannot possibly expect the society to accept her? Can you imagine this woman in Mrs. Chesley's sitting room?" His sister's mocking tone was venomous.

"Deadre, darling, I am certain he would not dare bringing her there, not with her parentage." John joined them at the table and immediately hid behind his newspaper.

"John, we were hoping you would join us in this discussion," his mother's cold tone made him lower the paper.

"I am certain I have very little to contribute into it."

"It is about Lord Harligton's granddaughter. He is bringing her to the dinner at Mrs. Gobey's tonight." John inhaled slowly. He had no choice but to concede and listen to the prattling. He folded his newspaper and looked at his mother expectantly. "Lord Harlington is bringing his granddaughter over to the formal dinner tonight, and we are concerned whether being seen in the company of such woman could influence Deadre's reputation." His sister was expecting a proposal from a rich manufacturer, and as little as his mother approved of the choice she was determined to protect the security of such matrimony.

"I am certain that a ward of such noble gentleman as Harlington is not a threat to your reputation, Dea." John really wished Frederick was here, he had a much better talent for managing the women.

"But her mother ran away from home! With an Irishman!" His sister's blue eyes widened, and he almost groaned.

"Besides, John, she is known to be a bit of a… suffragette," his mother's calm face wavered, and John felt acute sympathy towards the young lady in question. She was not to enjoy the celebrations that evening. The society did not take well on liberal views, especially from a woman of questionable upbringing.

"Can you imagine Harlington's heirloom jewels on a neck of an Irish woman?" His sister's tone was triumphant, and John gave her a reproachful look. Whatever the poor child looked like, he predicted a lot of criticism of her appearance. And if the nature was not generous, he only hoped that Harlington had enough sense not to allow this woman wear the famous diamond necklace of his late wife.

**XXX**

The necklace was indeed on the neck of the aforementioned Miss Wren Leary, the daughter of a poor Irish painter and Harlington's daughter. The doors opened, their name was announced, and she stepped into the hall, her arm elegantly looped through her grandfather's, and he felt for the first time in his life he could not form a certain opinion on a person in front of him.

The flaming locks in an elegant do according to the latest fashion, demure refined dress, long slender neck, she looked regal and dignified, while her strange green eyes were wide and innocent. She held her head high, obviously aware of the apprehension from the society around her, but then a mischievous smile adorned her lips, and she leaned to her grandfather's ear. Her comment was too quiet to be heard, but Harlington's laughter in response was a quiet obvious confirmation that Miss Leary was mocking the astounded faces of the guests in the sitting room.

With the evening passing, John felt even more confused. He prefered forming his opinion on people's personality in the first few minutes after being introduced to them. Everything in her was a contradiction, she was not attractive in the general sense, but confident and alluring, and after an hour he realized that most of men were gathered around her. She obviously had good education and impeccable manners, but her views were indeed liberal, and soon he found himself in a rather heated and, honestly speaking, unpleasant discussion of women's rights to vote. For the life of him, he could not understand how that transpired, considering he had never before found himself interested in the topic. Even more so, he rarely contradicted anyone in such emotional tone in general, preferring barking commands and intimidating his opponents with sharp arguments and burning glare from his looming height.

Neither seemed to have much influence on Miss Leary's cheerful disposition. Her eyes were glinting with mirth, and he felt even more irritated. John Thorington did not enjoy being laughed at. And then to his own surprise he heard his own voice, and his speech sounded surprising like growling, "I am surprised that a woman of your political disposition, Miss Leary, would then concede to attending such gathering as this, where women are expected to comply with social rules and behave accordingly. Should you not be setting mailboxes on fire and chaining yourself to lampposts? Although I would imagine it to be very hard to do in such a feminine attire."

He could not understand what made him so irked. Was it her curled up lips, seemingly reflecting her inner laughter at some joke, known only to her but obviously made at his expense? Was it the way the green eyes were studying his face and an almost pitying look she gave him when he scornfully cocked his brow when she was talking about Asquith's 'cowardly actions'? Or was it the fact that her skin so radiant, alabastr like seemed to lure him, and he suddenly imagined pressing his lips to her shoulder? He recoiled from his own thoughts, they were not to be addressed at a lady, but something in her awoke the most primal, animalistic surges in him.

He left early, and on his way out he ran into his brother. He was late but still showed up, and John clapped on his shoulder. "Fred, my chap, enjoy the menagerie. It is exceptionally turbulent today." His brother looked at him in confusion, but John only smirked and hurried out. He desperately needed a drink.

**XXX**

Six months later he was returning home when a bell boy rushed to him and grabbed his sleeve. Stunned by such insolence he let the boy drag him in the alley, when a small figure in a hooded cloak stepped out of the shadows. Miss Leary, and it was hard not to recognise her slender build and a flaming lock escaping from under the hood, threw the servant a coin, and once he sprinted out of the alley she stepped closer. He opened his mouth to inquire of such strange circumstances, when she pressed her body into him, her arms wrapping around his neck, and suddenly he found himself being kissed by the woman that would not leave his dreams and deprived him of peace.

It took him but a second to realized what was happening, and then his hands lay on her delicate shoulder blades. She had to stand on tiptoes to reach him, and he bent his tall body to accommodate her. Her lips were as soft and as intoxicating as he imagined in his wildest fantasies. She sighed into his lips, and he suddenly felt mad. He pressed her into himself harder, his hands bunching her cloak, and he took charge of the kiss. His head was swimming, strange ringing in his ears, and all his skin heated up. Suddenly she pushed him away and even took a step back. Her face was confused and apprehensive.

And then she gasped and pressed her hands to her mouth. "You are not him, you are not Frederick..." Her pale face and trembling hands told him at least half of the story. She expected his brother, the appearance indeed hardly distinguishable, especially in the dim light of the streetlamp, and they both prefered the same cut of a jacket. He immediately understood, it was a clandestine affair, her grandfather did not approve. John got momentarily distracted by the thought that such matrimony was indeed impossible, which was one of the many reasons why he strove to avoid seeing Miss Leary in any social circumstances. He assumed Frederick was not that wise.

"Oh dear, please, promise me you will not tell… How could I have mistaken?" Her remarkable green eyes were roaming his face, and she stepped closer. The faint fragrance of her perfume hit his nose, mixed with the fresh smell of her skin, and a shiver ran through him. Now that he knew the taste of her lips and the contours of her slim body under the cloak, he craved more. She lifted her hand in a pleading gesture. "Please, Mr. Thorington, you have to promise me..."

"I do not have to promise you anything, Miss Leary," his tone was sharp, but only because he was fighting with the burning desire to pull her into himself again. She shrank away from him, but then she governed her emotions, and he saw her jaws clench stubbornly.

"What are you inclined to do then? Disclose your brother's secret?" When she was nervous her slight accent was stronger, and he found her rolling r's endlessly alluring. He stepped closer and placed his palms on her shoulders.

She did not move away from him, and he suddenly realized she was as affected by his closeness as he was by hers. As a test he slowly leaned in, keeping their eyes locked, and he saw his lips open slightly. He dove in, pressing his lips to hers, claiming her mouth, pressing his splayed palms to her back. She arched into him, and he saw the long thick lashes flutter. After a few moments of delicious silence, he let her go, and she opened her eyes and suddenly smiled to him. "You are nothing like you twin brother, Mr. Thorington."

"You can call me John," he said, his voice raspy, and claimed her mouth once more.


	2. Chapter 2

Mr. John Thorington was standing his back to the room, his eyes on the drops of rain running down the glass, while the maid that let him into the sitting room left to call the host of the house. Mr. Thorington's fingers were locked behind his back, his shoulders tense, and his jaw tensed even more when the door behind him opened. He turned around and courteously bowed to the old man entering the parlour.

"Thorington," the old man's voice trembled, and a loud cough shook his body. He pressed a handkerchief to his lips, but not before Thorington noticed a scarlet drop on the man's lips.

"Lord Harlington."

Both men sat down, and John patiently waited for the older man to speak. The latter seemed lost in his thoughts, but then he shook his head and focused his sharp dark eyes on Thorington.

"I am a military man, John, I am not used to speaking ambiguously. I will be direct." Thorington nodded. He felt immense respect for Harlington, acutely aware of how the impending conversation was paining the old man. "In the current situation my family is at your mercy, John. After the public transgression of your brother and my granddaughter, all that can be done is..." The old man started coughing again, and John quickly got up to hand him a glass of water. Lord Harlington thanked him and drank it greedily. "Since these two mad children decided to make their love publicly known, and you have to know, John, I fully blame Wren..." The old man shook his head. "And myself. I have encouraged her insurgent views and all those suffragette meetings, she is a clever child, but she gets so passionate..." The old man trailed away, and Thorington kept silent for him to continue. The old man coughed into the handkerchief again and clenched his jaw. "I am certain it was her scheme from the start, to be seen with him in such compromising position, and I do not place any blame on your brother… I have been young once as well, John, and I remember the power women had over my will then. Women can make a fool of any of us..." Thorington smirked darkly. Sadly enough he shared Harligton's sentiment, although unknown to the old man he also placed the same judgment on himself. His brother was not the only man in his family having fallen under the spell of Wren Leary. "But with your brother's sudden death..." Harlington looked at John with sympathy, and Thorington lowered his eyes. The mourning period was almost over, but the emotional wound seemed to never possible to heal. All the family still felt shocked and devastated by Frederick's accident. He had always been an excellent rider, no one could imagine him to lose control over his colt. So many circumstances had to fall together for such tragedy to transpire, the sudden sound to frighten the otherwise calm horse, Frederic's boot to slip, and the belly band to snap! John felt there was some sort of a plot on the fate's part to slay his brother, and he felt anger rising in him every time he would think of it. Frederic did not deserve such destiny.

"With my brother's sudden death your granddaughter's honour is in my hands," John looked at Harlington with sympathy.

"No one knew which one of you two was with her in that carriage that night, John. He was seen and recognized, but I doubt even your mother can distinguish the two of you with certainty!" The old man's voice grew louder, but then he realized his own words. "I am sorry, John. That was unacceptable."

"Apology accepted, sir. And you are right, even Mother had trouble telling us apart. Your granddaughter though always could. I would immediately receive the coldest greeting as soon as I would enter a room." His tone was sarcastic, mostly because he was trying to silence the unwanted memories of that one time when Wren Leary mistook him for his brother. In the darkness of an alley, her slender body pressed to him, her arms wrapped around his neck, her soft passionate lips on his… Thorington frowned and reigned his emotions.

"I understand your meaning, John. The two of you indeed are not on the best of terms, and please believe me, I once again place all the blame on her. Her so called progressive views, her radical ideas… She is stubborn and temperamental, but I believe even she understands that to save her honour and my name she is to marry you now. And believe an old man, marriage is rarely built on mutual adoration and hardly depends on such emotions."

Thorington felt strange tug at his heart. While the scandal and rumours were raging through the society he obviously assumed that such solution might come to light but now, once it was put into words he felt strange apprehension. John Thorington was a person of determined will and inner strength, and always strove to be honest with himself. He had to confess at least to himself that his upcoming marriage to Miss Wren Leary made his so distressed not because it was unwanted, but quite the opposite. But if he were earnest with himself he had to admit he would have wanted her to enter it willingly, to choose him over his brother and submit to him, as opposed to be forced into it. He also knew that she would agree. To pacify and make her ill grandfather content she would agree on anything. Thorington clenched a fist on the armrest of the sofa, nodded curtly, and the decision was made.

**XXX**

Even though John expected his wedding night to become a nightmare, he hardly anticipated the scale of the calamity he was to endure. He opened the door to his marital bedroom, and since his bride refused to have anything to do with establishing their new household all the decisions were made by his sister, who out of her own understanding and, as John suspects, vengeful strictness had ordered only one bedroom to be organized in his house, and once his eyes fell on his young wife he froze on the threshold. Firstly, candles were burning bright in the bedroom. It was John's understanding that he was to find the room dark and to approach the bed blindly groping in the dark. His wife was to be lying motionless under the covers, dressed in her nightgown, and the further proceedings were to transpire quickly and unpleasantly for both sides. John was familiar with the latest medical opinion on what had always been perceived as the man's right on their wife's body. A man was expected to demand his marital right at least two times a week, for the sake of sustaining his good health, having acquired full ownership over his wife legally and physically. He also understood that most women were completely uneducated on these matters, and he was prepared to be patient with his blushing wife.

Miss Wren Leary and now Mrs. John Thorington was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in a nightdress and a robe, her flaming copper curls scattered on her shoulders, her face haughty and apprehensive. He made a few uncertain steps inside, and she scornfully exhaled.

"Are you intending to spend your wedding night standing up, Mr. Thorington?" Her tone was venomous, and he felt his temper rising. He acutely realized that since the day he saw her for the first time they have hardly exchanged any friendly words. They argued during public gatherings on women's rights, they insulted each other in private conversations, he would insinuate she was of loose morals, she degraded him comparing him to his brother. Since the decision was made for them to marry she quite obviously decided to give him silent treatment, he was so engaged that it seemed rather favourable to him. They hastily married to silence rumours, and now he was standing in front of her in his night shirt and breeches and felt completely lost.

"Are you aware of what is to transpire between us now, Mr. Thorington?" Her tone was almost bored, and he suddenly found himself laughing loudly in the dim bedroom of his new married household. He was the one to ask such question. She looked at him in confusion, and her delicate nose twitched in disdain.

He sat on the bed near her and gave her an attentive look over. "Something tells me, Mrs. Thorington, that unlike most of your sisters," he purposefully used the suffragette term and saw her nostrils flare, "You are rather knowledgeable in this area."

"Unlike most people in contemporary society I do not consider carnal matters a prerogative of men. And education is a virtue, Mr. Thorington." Her tone was meant to hurt, and it did. But not for the reason she thought. His fists clenched, and white rage filled him. All he could think was that he was evidently not to be the first man to possess her body, and he suddenly imagined slapping her across her pale face. And then he immediately felt nauseated from this thought. It was his own fault, he desired her so much that he decided to marry her despite her loose behaviour, her views and her obvious inappropriateness. He had a price to pay. He took a deep breath in and closed his eyes. The small triumphant voice in his head he had heard all through this day, praising him for finally making her his, for obtaining her into his possession, submitting her into his ownership, had faded away, and he realized that she would never be his. He was unfortunate to fall in love with her, with her temper and her rebellious nature, her stubbornly lifted chin and sharp words that made the men and women of the class wince. Had he been in love with her looks, he would have ignored the heart and mind behind them like most men did these days, but he was out of his luck. He opened his eyes and looked at her, seemingly for the first time. Feverish blush burning on her cheekbones, her small hands fisted on her knees, slanted green eyes widened, pupils dilated, she was as beautiful to him as a woman could be for a man whose heart she possessed, and suddenly he realized he had been defeated.

"Wren," his voice broke, and he saw her eyebrows jump up, he had never addressed her by her name before, "I am aware of what happens between a husband and wife on their wedding night, and any given night afterwards for that matter, but..." He felt strange tension in his chest and took another deep breath, "But I abnegate my right for the marital duties on your part." He watched her lips open slightly, and she looked at him in shock. The strange tension he felt seemed to have spilled into the air in the room. Suddenly a grimace of fury ran across her face.

"Are you expecting me to be grateful for this?" She hissed, and he saw her hand twitch as if she was fighting an urge to slap him herself. "You do not have any right over any of my duties!" She spit the last word, and he saw her shoulders shake. "I am not a commodity, Mr. Thorington, I am not your horse, I am not furniture or a carpet. I am a living human being, and..." She choked on her words, and suddenly he realized she was scared. Her small frail body was shaking, her lips were white, and he saw with all possible clarity she was fighting tears.

At that moment perhaps for the first time in his life John tried to see the circumstances he was in from another person's point of view. How terrifying, humiliating and degrading such situation must have been to her! She buried a man she loved without a right to mourn him openly, she was forced in a marriage with another bearing the face of her dead beloved, she was expected to perform duties that were endlessly disgusting to her both personally and intellectually, and he was making clever comments!

He jumped on his feet and stepped back from her. She wasn't looking at him, her eyes fixed on some spot on the wall in front of her, and if he had any doubts that he was being a monster of her worst nightmares they quickly disappeared when a single tear ran down her cheek. He rushed out of the bedroom into his study and slammed the door behind him. His whole body was shaking, and he filled a glass with sherry. He toppled the tangy drink into his throat and started coughing. Some strange headache was clenching on his temples, and he pressed his back to the door. He had just become the executor to the woman he loved.


	3. Chapter 3

A week passed, and he hardly saw Wren. He worked in his study, slept on a sofa in it, took his meals there, and for the first time in his life he did not care what the servants might think of him. All he wanted was to avoid the eyes of his wife, burning with hatred and disdain towards him as they did that very first night. However it was said a man was to behave in his house, he could not bring himself to even face his wife, to say nothing of demanding any sort of submission from her.

At rare moments he would feel inadequate, remembering that a man had a right to demand obedience and certain privileges in marriage, no matter what physical or mental state his spouse was in, and was indeed entitled to even express his displeasure and dissatisfaction through physical violence if any of his needs were not met. He meanwhile was hiding from his wife in his study. When such realisation were to hit him, he would come as far as to get up to decisively walk to her half of the household, but as soon as he would think of her burning stare he would cowardly return in his shelter.

It was late at night, and a single lamp was burning on his desk, when he heard a soft knock at the door of his study. He assumed it was one of the servants. He would take baths and change in his wardrobe attached to the bedroom, but he was certain his lodging arrangements were no secret to anybody in the house. He got up and opened the door mindlessly only to see his wife standing at the threshold in her nightdress and a silk lacy robe.

"Could I come in, please?" Her tone was soft, and he stepped back and to the side letting her in. She was dressed the same way as that very first night, although he could not be sure, he tried to avoid looking at her as much as possible. She passed inside the room and sat on the edge of the sofa he slept on. He took a seat on the opposite end and saw her throat move spasmodically as she was gathering her strength.

"I came to apologize for my behaviour that night, John." It was his turn to hear his name pronounced by his spouse for the first time, and his body jolted. "It was unacceptable. I let my agitated state cloud my judgement, and I do tend to speak out of terms when I am frightened." He looked at her in confusion. She had her eyes lowered, her small fingers fidgeting with the belt of her robe. "The circumstances we are in are the only possible ones for us. You preserved your brother's honour and saved mine, and I should have been… kinder to you." She lifted her face, and he saw feverish red spots burning on her cheeks. "You are not to blame for the disgusting practices of our society, and as your understanding of women's rights is limited your offer is actually endlessly noble."

He couldn't help it, a small chuckle escaped his lips. "Do I understand you right, Miss Leary," he slipped into using her old appellation without realizing it, "That you came to express your gratitude that although I am a brute and a barbarian I do not force you to perform your marital duties that you find so hateful?" He realized that his words sounded much more sarcastic that he intended them to, but such seemed to be the common tone between the two of them. She frowned and shook her head mournfully.

"I shouldn't have expected you to understand." He barked a bitter laughter.

"What did you hope for, Miss Leary? I am one of those dimwitted and limited men you hate so much! Of course the only thing you are to expect from me is to brutalize you and treat you as commodity!"

She was seemingly losing her composure, and he saw her breathing heavier. "I am a commodity! I have no rights, no property, no voice! It was all taken from me when I agreed to marry you to save your brother's reputation!" She was almost shouting, and he shrank away from her.

"Frederick… You did it for Frederick." Her wide red mouth twisted, and for once she looked like a heartbroken twenty year old girl that she was.

"What would you have done in my place?" Her voice was quiet and devastated. "He tricked me into it, and even after his death he is still haunting me…" She grew pale, and he suddenly realized what she was saying.

"What do you mean he tricked you?" Her eyes widened, and she clasped her hand over her mouth. He grabbed her shoulders, understanding by the slight movement of her body that she was preparing to run, and he leaned to her face to hold her stare. He knew he was capable of bending people to his will, were he to concentrate his attention on them thusly. "Wren! What did you mean by saying he had tricked you?!" She was silent, and he considered shaking her. And then he pulled her into him, and his arms closed around her. She was trembling violently, and he felt strange piercing tenderness flood him.

"Wren, confide in me... I know you dislike me, but you have my word of honour, I will not betray your trust..." A shudder ran through her body, and suddenly she wrapped her arms around him and hid her face into his neck.

"I didn't know we would be discovered… He invited me at a false pretense, and..." Her voice trembled, and he pressed her into him harder. "He said he loved me and that we had to be married..." She pushed away from him with astonishing force, and their eyes locked. "I know you will not believe me, but I would never… Never would have threatened my grandfather's name thusly! I know what you all think of me, that I seduced him, that I am loose…" She straightened her back and lifted her chin. Her face wet with tears, she still looked full of dignity, and he felt a tinge of admiration for the small woman in front of him. "I paid for my naivety, and I just want you to know I appreciate what you did. I do not condone the institute of marriage at its current state, but out of possible options you chose the one showing most decency and consciousness on your part. And I think all we can do is persevere," she stumbled over her words and blushed. "We are married now and should behave accordingly."

He stared at her in confusion, not certain he should believe his understanding of her words. She exhaled sharply and got up. He got up as well, and suddenly she picked up his hand. His eyes fell on her strong fingers wrapped around his passives ones, and she tugged on his hand. His doubts did not disappear even through the moments when she led him back into their bedroom, him following her obediently and silently, even after she closed and locked the door behind him, and sat down on the edge of the bed just like the very first night. He sat down near her, an uneasy feeling of deja vu flooding him, and looked at her in uncertainty.

She started untying her belt, and only them he realized what was transpiring. He grabbed her hands halting her. "Wren, my goodness, what are you doing?" She lifted her feverish eyes at him and gulped.

"What?.. Would you like to blow the candles out? I am not certain how you want it to happen..."

"Surely not this way!" He heard his own voice, agitated and tense, and saw her bite into her bottom lip. He saw her hands start shaking, and he felt like he was in some sort of a distorted nightmare where all his dreams, the ones he tried to hide even from himself, of having her in his arms, in his bedroom, in his bed after all, turned into some sort of a convoluted torture. "Wren, what are you thinking? That I am to possess you as an inanimate object, without as much as… asking if you were willing?" She suddenly laughed, and even through his disturbed daze he realized the strange parallelism of their behaviours. It was her turn to laugh bitterly.

"What else is there to be expected, John? We are married." He took a few deep breaths in and made an internal decision. He cupped her face, her eyes widened, and he looked at her earnestly.

"Wren, let us agree on something right now. We both did what was most dignified in this situation, I was saving my brother's reputation, you were protecting your family name, and now we just have to try to become… friends, hopefully, and endure it the best way possible. And no, I am not to stake any claim on you, you do not belong to me." She frowned and tried to twist out of his grasp, but he needed to finish and he needed her to listen. He held her gently, feeling her delicate jaw under his burning palms. "I was hiding from you in my study, I do not deceive myself with idiotic illusion that I have any power over you, Wren." He chuckled, though rather hysterically. "You intimidate me, Wren. You make me feel like an animal and the least of criminals. Allow me to show some decency and make an effort in this marriage to meet your needs."

She was studying him, obviously overwhelmed with doubts, and her eyes finally softened. She swallowed with difficulty and nodded. He nodded as well and quickly got up. "I shall return to my study, and I..."

"Good night, John," she interrupted him, and he heard relief in her voice. He nodded again and left the bedroom that still had not become his.


	4. Chapter 4

It took them three months to arrive to some sort of calm balance in the household, where each one of them had their own separate life, her continuing her meetings and councils of the suffragette society and visits with her grandfather, him with his service, and a few rare social calls they would make. She attended dinners with him, well mannered, endlessly elegant in her sophisticated attires, and gracious, but cold and distant, and three times he accompanied her to her beloved opera. And while in their everyday life he managed to feel almost content with their current arrangement, the hours spent in the confinement of the opera loge, her perfume flooding his senses, the pale skin of her delicate shoulders in the elegant evening gown, and a few stubborn curls twirling on her neck seemed to haunt him in his dreams later. If any other day he could manage to forget that he was desperately in love with his estranged wife, the hunger and the longing were impossible to ignore when he could see her small strong hands fidget with the ivory handle of her opera binoculars. She would have her eyes fixed on the stage, fully emerged in what would be transpiring there, her chest heaving from the sentiment, lashes flutter and lips half-open, and during the third visit to the theatre he could stand it no more. He excused himself, she hardly noticed his leaving, and rushed out of the loge. He spent the rest of "Traviata" standing in the parlour of the opera house frowning and clenching his fists.

Unfortunately, the seeming peace they had managed to achieve in their relationships had to be upset, and of course by none the other but his sister. While she was to be busy and involved in the preparation for her own wedding, she seemed to find it amusing to create tension on those days when John and Wren would attend his mother's dinners. John knew her well and understood that, though it was based on an erroneous assumption, an acute envy was torturing his sister. While her marriage was to be of the arranged, monetary caused sort, all the society was certain that John and Wren were married after their mutual passion had been accidentally discovered, and that the two lovers were to be in heaven of blissful marriage, full of love and fervour for each other, so rare these days.

"Wren, darling, I see you haven't touched your wine," Dea's voice rang over the table, and he saw his wife's lashes flutter. She could not drink any wine, he knew by then, her mind affected by it immediately, and the last thing she ever wished for was to lose the clarity of her astuteness she was so proud of. "Is there a particular reason for such fickleness from you? You could be open with us, my darling, we are family after all." John saw his wife's lips grew white. Dea was quite obviously hinting on a possibility of a child, and even for a closed family circle such question would be intrusive.

"I am certain, Dea, Wren can choose her diet on her own. She is a grown-up married woman after all," the voice of John's mother was stern, and he saw Wren's eyes fly to Mrs. Thorington with gratitude. They had tense relationships, hardly having exchanged more than a dozen of lines since the wedding, and he was surprised to find his mother defending his wife. There was a silent moment of understanding between the two women, and then Wren picked up her glass and took a large sip of wine from it. Everyone returned to their roast beef, Dea pouting after being reminded of being the youngest and least accomplished out of them, Wren's cheeks burning frantically possibly from the wine she kept on pointedly sipping through the dinner, and Mrs. Thorington's brow frowned from her unknown worries. Later in the carriage John felt he needed to apologize for his sister's behaviour.

"Wren, earlier when Dea was so ungracious..." He started, only to be interrupted by her tense voice.

"You could have interfered!" She turned to him, and in the dim light of the street lamps they were passing he could see her eye were brilliant, and to his shock he understood she was crying. He had never seen her cry before, except for the single tear that she shed on their wedding night. "I endure these dinners and parties for you, to sustain your reputation, you could have defended me at least in front of your sister and mother! They have a low opinion of me already, you could possibly save me this humiliation!" He felt his anger rising.

"You shouldn't concern yourself with my reputation, I have forgone it once I married you!" He regretted the words as soon as they escaped his lips. Her eyes widened, and he expected her to slap him. Instead of dignified rage on her face that would be so much in her character, he saw large tears appear on her eyes and roll down her burning cheeks. He remembered the wine she drank during the dinner. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed. He felt as a brutal savage and stretched his hand to gently touch her shoulder. She was shaking so hard that he could see the feather quake on her elegant hat. She shrank away from his fingers, and her hands flew up in a defensive gesture. She was shielding herself from him, and he hated himself even more painfully.

"Forgive me, I misspoke… I did not mean to offend you… I..." He could not seem to be able to find the right words, and she pulled a lace handkerchief out of her pouch and pressed her face into it.

"I hate you..." He heard her choked, muffled voice, and it felt like a lash across his face. "You are the reason for all my sufferings... It is you, it is always you… Why did I have to meet you..." He realized his own hands were shaking no less violently now. He understood the wine made her finally speak her mind, and although he felt a strange relief from the astriction between them finally to be openly voiced, his heart clenched and strange ache spread in his chest. He hadn't doubted she disliked him, but he hoped she could at least tolerate him, and perhaps with time they could have developed some sort of amicability. She continued speaking, and he closed his eyes and considered stopping the carriage and leaving. He could not bear it.

"That night, why did I have to meet you… It was never the same again, and he felt it… He was becoming more and more demanding, irritated..." She sobbed and lifted her eyes at him, and he understood she was much more intoxicated that he had assumed initially. She had a strong will and impeccable manners that allowed her to continue proper behaviour through the evening, but now her composure was slipping. "He grabbed my arm then, he never was like that before… And I got scared…." He understood she was talking of Frederick. "I am never scared of you. Why is that?" Her eyes were unfocused, as if she even forgot he was there with her. "And when the letter came, I was foolish enough… How could I be so wrong... You would have never done that, but I believed!.. I just wanted to believe!.."

"What are you talking about, Wren?" He asked cautiously, not to scare off the moment of openness from her. His heart was beating frantically as he thought he was starting to understand something very important, something he could hardly hope for before.

"I got a letter, more of a note, that night..." She spoke quietly, lost in her memories, still almost unaware with whom she was speaking. "I didn't know your handwriting then, never had seen it, and it said 'John' at the bottom, and I believed..." She sobbed again and hid her face in the handkerchief again. "He planned it all… He talked so frantically, he tried to convince me I was making mistake, ending it all, but I could not fight it anymore… I would always see you… Always you! He would look at me, and all I would see was you! Goodness, how much I hate your face!" She suddenly raised her voice and leaped at him. Her small fists battered at his chest, and he tried to catch her slender wrists. She was livid, having suddenly lost all her poise, and he was astounded by the fire burning in her eyes. "I hate you! Hate seeing you every day! It is a torture! It never ends!" He finally caught her hands and pressed them to his chest. She was breathing labouriously, thrashing in his arms, and he held her tight. "Let me go! Do not dare!... I already gave up everything to you!.. What else do you want from me?.." She started crying loudly, and he shifted his arms, wrapped them around her and held her to himself. She was weeping desperately, and he started slowly rocking her from side to side. Her cries started subsiding, and he pressed his cheek to the crown of her hair. Her hat slipped off her curls when she jumped at him, and he buried his nose into the fragrant silk of her copper strands. Her uneven raspy breathing started calming down, and soon he realized that she was drowsy from the wine and exhaustion from her outburst. When they arrived to their house, she was limp in his arms, and he picked her up. Her arms weakly wrapped around his neck, and her forehead pressed to the starched collar of his shirt.

He carried her to the bedroom, under seemingly indifferent looks of servants, and placed her on the bed. Her lashes fluttered, but otherwise she seemed unresponsive. He knew she would hate if her maid were to see her like that, and he quickly started undressing her. As most men of class he was familiar with women's wardrobe, but his knowledge was limited to the fallen women to whose company he was introduced as a youth. He never acquired taste for such activities and had given them up rather quickly. He unbuttoned and took off her dark blue dress, and his fingers lay on the corset. She weakly stirred under his touch, and he saw her soft lips slightly open. He felt dizzy from desire and tenderness towards her, and not giving himself any time to doubt he quickly divested her of the corset and the petticoat. She was left in an undershirt and pantaloons, and he could not control himself anymore. He leaned in and pressed his lips to her. Heady arousal suffocated him, her taste, her smell, the touch he had not felt since that one evening, and then he forced himself to move away and as if dragged himself away from her.

**XXX**

The water in the sink in his study was ice cold, and he filled it and stuck his head in it. It hurt his temples, and he felt his teeth chatter. He straightened up and then taking a spasmodic gulp of air he stuck it in again, this time making himself last longer. He welcomed the pain and the excruciating cold, and then he sank on the floor, his back to the wall. The water was pouring down his face, and he was breathing heavily. Perhaps the renown French surgeon, Dr. Auguste Declay was right and men deprived of their marital rights were indeed in danger of developing fatal diseases. Every muscle in John's body hurt, and his hands were shaking. And perhaps the insanity promised to males for not "exercising their organ" was already settling down in his mind. Surely a sane man would awake his wife and just took what was his by the right of marriage. Instead John just handled the passive body of his wife, slender, soft, maddeningly alluring, just a few layers of fabric separating him from her pale radiant skin, gentle curves easy to guess under the undergarments, and now he was sitting on the floor of his study, water dripping on his favourite jacket, cravat suffocating him, and why? Because he could not bring himself to ignore the certainty he felt when imagining the hatred and despise on her face she would meet his demands with.

And then his thoughts leapt to her feverish words in the carriage. She had as much as confessed being in love with him while having an affair with Frederick, and he felt even more confused. What did she feel now then? She said she hated him, but was it a hatred of a woman who thought her feeling were not returned? Or had she developed contempt towards him once she realized he was less of a man she thought him to be? He surely felt he was a disappointment to her. As much as he tended to argue with her on her cause, mostly to irk her in a public dispute, he internally agreed with many thoughts expressed by her sisters. And his wife was the best proof of how their views were to be taken seriously. Women were indeed if not equal to men but definitely comparable in their will, intellect and talent. She was a gifted chess player, she possessed intelligence above average, and surely superior to many of John's colleagues, she was well read and opinionated. And except for tonight he had never seen her composure or reserve waver. More than once he heard her discussing political matters in salons, and he had to agree wholeheartedly, she was indeed smarter, more eloquent and more knowledgeable than most men of the class. Among other things in a discussion when such liberties were encouraged she would always comment on how rightless women were in marriage and especially how they would give up their right on their bodies. And here he was, lusting after her, without any concern for her feelings. She was as much as unconscious, and all he could think of was her tender lines under the garments. He groaned and hid his face into his hands. Perhaps, Wren Leary was right, he was indeed a typical man, abusive and animalistic. Thorington, he corrected himself, and a grimace distorted his face, she was Wren Thorington, and it was indeed the fate worse than death for her.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: ****My lovelies****, as always I'm endlessly grateful for your feedback! I'm having so much fun with this story! :)**

**Just to include you into the additional fun I'm having while researching ****Edwardian sexuality****, I'll tell you that Dr. A****uguste Declay from the previous chapter is a real historic figure, abstinence from forcing one's wife into intercourse five (!) times a week was indeed thought to cause fatal diseases and insanity, and the phrase about the necessity to "exercise one's organ" is a direct quote from a medical book on married life published in that era. I'm very thorough :D**

She spent the next few days in her rooms, having informed him through her maid she was not feeling well, and he sent his sympathies back. He drowned himself in work and in the evenings in sherry, and he finally found the perfect proportion of the drink to consume to have a dreamless night but to be productive and energetic in the morning. On the evening of day four he was sitting on the sofa in his study, absorbed in his book, a not yet touched glass of sherry in front of him, when he heard a knock. This time he recognised the sound and tensed.

Upoin being let in she sat down at the same spot she had chosen all those months ago, and he realized she was avoiding his eyes.

"I came to apologise..." Her voice was hardly audible, and she was blushing. He remained standing and cleared his throat. He was so tired of the emotional tension that even the striking repeatedness of their encounters in this study failed to impress him.

"How much do you remember of your behaviour that evening, Wren?" She blushed even harder, and he could see she was fisting her hands.

"I do not remember getting into the carriage, just the dinner, and the second half of it rather vaguely..." She pressed her hands to her knees harder and lifted her eyes at him. They were guilty and ashamed. "Have I been rude to your mother or sister?" He shook his head and was studying her face. She closed her eyes in relief, but then embarrassment coloured her features again. "Have I been horrible to you? In the carriage perhaps? I have a terrifying feeling of unease, as if I… Was I rude or out of sorts?" He sat down on the other end of the sofa and lowered his head. Something in her current, slightly less composed behaviour pushed him to try to investigate what she was hiding behind her usually endlessly mannered facade.

"You said you hated me. And hit me repeatedly with your fists."

"Oh my Lord!" She squeaked and covered her mouth with her hands. He peeked at her from the corner of his eye. She was so horrified and ashamed that he felt an unreasonable hope that perhaps she didn't hate him that much in actuality.

"And you said you hated my face, and being married to me was a torture." Her giant eyes were glassy with terror, and the black pupils flooded the green irises. And he decided it was time to act. In these three days he had arrived to a decisive understanding that his marriage could not continue thusly. If the status quo prevailed, he would either go mad from the love and lust he felt for her, and he would develop a debilitating addiction to sherry. Neither of the options was viable, and he decided he needed to understand her feelings once and for all, and either separate from her if she indeed hated him, or… John wouldn't allow himself dwell on the second, much more favourable option, giving himself an feeble hope would be very foolish. Firstly, because a disappointment would surely break him, secondly, if he even imagined a glimpse of marital concord with her, he was flooded with such images that he felt he needed to fill his sink with cold water again.

"Also you asked for divorce and even asked if any of my colleagues could represent you in court." He watched her reaction carefully, trying to see if the thought of divorce had even come to her mind, when suddenly the expression in her eyes changed, and she lowered her hands. Her face was cold, and she straightened up.

"And what was your answer, John?"

"My answer?"

"Yes, once I asked you for divorce three days ago, what did you say to me?" Something in her tone made him think about his answer very carefully.

"I said that if it were your will, we could discuss such option when you were feeling better." She narrowed her eyes, and he realized he was holding his breath waiting for her to speak. She was contemplating his words, and he realized that was the moment of truth for them.

"I find it rather interesting," her tone was cold and even, "That you decided to discuss divorce with me, John. I think I can safely assume it is something that is on your mind then, since I specifically remember never mentioning it that night." He froze in front of her, and she haughtily lifted her chin.

"How much do you remember, Wren?" He asked again, his voice choked this time, and her nostrils flared.

"I have a rather interesting reaction to alcohol, John. I cannot control my words and my actions, but I can clearly remember everything the next day. Once the excruciating headache and other unpleasant symptoms subside." She was looking directly into his eyes, and then he suddenly realized how this conversation must have seemed to her a certain proof of his desire to annul their marriage.

"Goodness, Wren, I do not want to divorce you!" Nothing more gracious came to his mind, and he would feel appalled by his own directness himself, were he not that panicked to be misunderstood. "I wanted to see what you would say..."

"I confessed my feeling to you that night, and you have the prepostrity of testing me now!" She shouted and jumped up on her feet. "Do you have no heart? Do you have no pity?" She stood in front of him, once again shaking, again in disdain and humiliation, and he could not stand it anymore. He grabbed her around her waist and pulled her into him, hiding his face into her middle. She gasped and jerked in his arms, but he only pressed harder.

"Forgive me… Forgive me..." She tried to step back, and he slid off the sofa, on his knees, on the floor, "Wren, I love you… I do… Forgive me… Lord, I seem to be destroying this marriage, though all I want is to save it..." She halted and grew still. She was breathing deeply, her slender body in his arms, and then a small narrow palm lay on his neck under his ear. She made him lift his face, and he met her eyes. She had a strange facial expression, her eyebrows lifted, some unreadable emotion splashing in her eyes.

"Could you please kiss me, John?" Her tone was calm, and he understood he was finally going mad.

"Pardon?" He dropped his hands, but she quickly cupped his face.

"Soon after our wedding you said you wanted to meet my needs in our marriage. I need you to kiss me right now." He was staring at her in shock, and she sighed. She leaned in and pressed her lips to his. For that she had to bend significantly, her curls brushed his cheek, and that suddenly awoke from his stupour. He grabbed her shoulders and dragged her down, to the floor with him. She embraced him, and he deepened their kiss. He was murmuring some feverish nonsense, his lips flying from her lips to her cheeks and soon her neck, his hands roaming her body, bunching up her robe, and his head was spinning.

"John," her tone was sober and stern, and he froze. He would expect a breathy murmuring in return, but she was looking at him endlessly sanely, and he felt momentarily panicked that he misunderstood what had just transpired. "Surely, such proceedings are to be happening in the bedroom." He stared at her hardly understanding anything, and then he felt his jaw slack. She was looking at him with strange tense curiosity, and he felt endlessly confused. He gulped and nodded. Most of the decisions regarding his marital life seemed to be made and punctuated by a nod, but he was far too agitated for any more eloquent answer.

**XXX**

Once again the light was burning in the bedroom, and she entered first. She took off her robe, hung it on the back of her chair by the vanity and climbed on the bed. He quickly shed his home jacket and sat near her on the covers. She was calm and collected, and he realized that out of the two of them he was the one overcome with emotions and unable to think straight from the intensity of the feelings, the flaws always ascribed to women. She moved the covers off the bed and lay down.

"Wren… Do you…? Do you even want this? Goodness, what am I asking?.." He felt like a complete imbecile but he needed her to answer. She nodded, the same lack of expression on her face, and placed her arms along her body. He noted that her hands were shaking slightly, but otherwise she seemed absolutely calm.

Internally berating himself for cowardice he put out the lamp and stretched on the bed near her. He could still see the outline of her white nightdress, long and demure, and her face, but he could not read her emotion. On the other hand she didn't seem to demonstrate any, and he suddenly couldn't remember why they were even in bed. And then it came back to him. She said she loved him, and he confessed he returned her feelings. They were now to enter proper marital relationships, but why did it feel so mechanical, so soulless? It was to be so, marital intercourse was hardly an enjoyable matter according to most doctors and men who dared talking about such affairs, but he secretly hoped that it were to be different with her. He loved her after all, and perhaps they could have found a way to make it at least pleasant for her. After all, women of her views and education were propagating women's rights on freedom and equal privileges in carnal matters. She was obviously not a woman of the unspoken profession but she was to be more knowledgeable and according to her she was willing. Why did he still feel as if he was abusing her?

He gathered his will and carefully lay over her supporting himself on his elbows. Her face was so close to his, and he lowered his lips on hers. She answered to his kiss but her movement were nothing even slightly resembling what had just transpired in his study, when she seemed as greedy for him as he was for her. Then, she had even opened her mouth, and he felt her even, white teeth nip on his bottom lip, which caused some sort of explosion in his head. Right now, her movements were almost absent-minded. He felt an urge to ask her again if she was willing but then he stopped himself. She was probably just as apprehensive as he was, and honestly, there was not much to be done about it. He awkwardly divested himself of his breeches, and then just to gain some more time and give himself a second to exhale he pulled covers over both of them. He then picked up the hem of her nightdress and carefully pulled, bunching it around her waist. He looked at her face and saw that her eyes were closed. Even with that lack of movement and speaking she was endlessly enthralling for him, and after all what did he expect? That she would perform all those unspeakable acts the women in the special clubs did? Radical views or not, she was still a noble woman. Her gentle skin flushed with blush, the tender floral scent of her perfume, and the soft warmth of her body underneath him were enough for his member to strain, erect, and he pressed a tender kiss to her cheek.

"Wren..." He didn't know what he wanted to say, but she didn't react. He exhaled sharply and moved his hips. His head pressed into her folds, and her body jolted. He closed his eyes too, not to see the hollow expression on her face, and pushed deeper into her. And then he felt the obstacle on his path. His eyes flew open, and he stared at her. "Are you?!.." His voice was so loud that she jerked and looked back at him. She was so close that he could see that her eyes were burning and a small vein was beating frantically on her temple.

"Of course," she looked at him in disbelief. "Did you think I had…?"

"But you and Frederick!... You were seen half dressed in the gardens! And you are a suffragette!" And that was when she started laughing. Her hysterical laughter was so out of place, with her dress pooling around her waist, his member half sheathed in her, and his naked backside sticking up, that he doubted her sanity. And immediately her laughter turned into loud sobs. She covered her face with her hands and wailed.

"I am so scared! Oh Lord, can it already happen! I cannot endure this anymore..." She thrashed under him abruptly, and from that his tip pressed into her harder. She emitted a half choked, terrified sound, a moan and a screech at them same time, and he rolled off her. "Oh no, please do not stretch this!" She started crying harder, and forgetting about his nakedness and anything else for that matter, he scooped her into his arms and let her cry openly in his arms.

She was clawing at his shoulders, pressing her head into his chest, and he was making soft shushing noises, stroking her hair, and murmuring, "Oh Wren... My darling, beloved Wren, what have we dragged ourselves into?... We need to talk to each other before we act… A couple of blithering idiots..." She sobbed several more times and seemingly started calming down. She was still tightly pressed into him, but then she lifted her face and looked at him. Her face was burning of embarrassment, but she seemed to have arrived to the same conclusion as he did just a second ago. They indeed needed to start talking to each other.

"I came to the gardens, and he was there. He was quiet, and he had wine… And..." She choked on her words and hid into his chest again. He wasn't sure he heard her next line right but he guessed the rest, "He was forceful, but I understand now he was desperate… And I thought it was you… I was ready to end it with him, and he was in panic… " He pressed his lips to her temple.

"I am so sorry, Wren…"

"He stopped when I asked. When I understood what his intentions were, even thinking it was you, I demanded him to stop… He hoped it would transpire, and we were to marry after that… He was frantic, desperate, but when I said your name he couldn't lie anymore... He stopped, and then we were found..." He was gently rocking her from side to side. She sighed, and her arms went around his neck. "If only we could somehow finish what we are doing without properly doing it…" Her voice was small, and he chuckled against his will. She sat up and wiped her face. She seemed ashamed of her hysterics now and tried to go back to her reserved and dignified persona, but he decided he was not to tolerate it anymore. Her remarkable self-possession and composure had almost led him to brutalize her chaste body in the most insensitive way just because she tried to behave properly. His mind worked quickly, and he decided that this was the time to throw everything he was taught aside and act upon what his intuition was telling him. And his intuition was telling him that the way they just decided to proceed was wrong.


	6. Chapter 6

"Wren, let us speak openly. Do I understand it right you know the mechanics of human intercourse, but what you know is learnt from books and the first hand encounters by married women?" She blushed even more furiously and nodded. He pulled covers tighter around his lower half. "Wren, I will be honest with you. I have rather limited experience in it, as you know men do indulge in the services of..." He trailed off, and she nodded with the sigh allowing him to avoid continuing his thought. He gently picked up her hand and pressed it to his lips to show his gratitude. He didn't want to even think of those awkwards and disgusting experiences he had when he followed the customary for men of his circle tradition of losing one's virginity to a professional. Even more so he wouldn't want anything that had transpired then to have anything to do with where he was now. "But I am thinking we both are wrong here."

She lifted her eyes at him. She seemingly took her emotions under control, and he saw a tinge of interest in her eyes. "Wren, you and I… Surely, two grown up, smart people can come up with a better way to spend time together?" He smiled to her, and then thought that it was perhaps one of his first smiles addressed to her. She immediately smiled back, and confirming his perception she impulsively leaned and quickly kissed him.

"You should smile to me more often, John. You are rather attractive when you do," a shadow of her old, sarcastic self could be seem in the disheveled frightened woman in front of him, and he felt they were on the right path. "By a better way to spend time together do you mean chess?" He had just opened his mouth to continue by uncertainly suggesting to perhaps try to lie down again, but now he froze with his mouth half open. And then she giggled. He had never heard this particular sound from her, and his jaw slacked even lower.

"You have an interesting facial expression at the moment, John. Do I gather you oppose to my proposal to play chess in our marital bed?" He stared at her, and then just to wipe the mischievous expression off her face, or perhaps to ensure it stays there for as long as possible and to preferably strengthen her seemingly returning confidence, but definitely at least partially because he was so madly in love with her, he cupped the back of her head and pulled her into a deep passionate kiss. In a matter of seconds she was panting and trembling in his arms, her eyes closed, small warm hands roaming his shoulders, and he realized that the two of them were indeed blithering idiots.

He tore his mouth off hers and rasped, "Shouldn't our marital duties feel like the continuation of this?" She blinked, completely dazed by his attentions, but then her eyes grew sharp.

"Ideally, yes, but..." Her nose twitched, and he looked into her eyes earnestly.

"But…?"

"But apparently they rarely do. And especially not the first time. I do not know if you are aware but there is pain and..."

"And blood," he nodded. He shortly remembered a conversation he was unfortunate to become a witness to in his club where two of his acquaintances, rather inebriated, were recollecting the terror of their wedding night. And then he thought of the other things they mentioned, how they had to force their wives at night, to "receive what was rightfully theirs," and how the wife of one of them "had the nerve to complain of pain afterwards", and suddenly John felt the necessity to protect what seemed to be budding in his bedroom at the moment from the dirt and the violence of what seemed to be happening among other couples. He hastily cupped the face of his wife and locked his eyes with her, "I love you, Wren! I need you to know this, to always remember this, I love you! And cherish you! And I wish no suffering or pain to you, and goodness, I am scared!" Her eyes widened, and suddenly she smiled openly and widely to him.

"I love you too! My Lord, I do, John, and I am scared too, but you are right, we are surely too clever to follow the example of those who themselves do not know what they are doing! We will find our own way!" He laughed into her artless, sincere eyes and pressed his mouth to hers. She readily met him, her hands suddenly trailed into his hair, and a shudder ran through his body. The feeling of her small fingers on his nape was magical and endlessly exciting. He felt his member stir to life again, and he moaned into her mouth. He felt her fingers twitch on his scalp, and she made a soft noise as well.

And then she moved away from him, and he recognized the expression on her face. She had exactly the same thoughtful wrinkle between her brows before a deciding move in a chess game. "I think we need to lie down and perhaps try again, John."

She was collected again, and he frowned, "Wren, do not lock yourself away from me again. Last time I almost hurt you because we were not open with each other."

She smiled to him softly and nodded, "I shall not. But this time I honestly think we should lie down. We both know it will not be pleasant, but once it is over, perhaps..." She chewed on her bottom lip, a nervous habit of hers he had noticed a long time ago but usually it had been properly hidden by her decorous manners. "Perhaps a time after that we will know a bit more… And it might not be that terrible..."

They lay down, and he pulled her to him. Their lips met, and he cupped her face gently. And then he finally allowed himself the indulgence he dreamt of from so long. His lips slid on her delicate jaw and then her neck. Her skin was as intoxicating as he thought, and she made a hardly audible soft noise. "Wren, I thought..." She hummed probably not hearing him at all. "We do not have to do anything besides what we are indulging in right now. It is enough, it is so..."

She opened her eyes and smiled to him. "It is, isn't it? I feel so warm and safe with you..." She suddenly laughed. "I always wanted to know what it was like to be embraced by you, even when you were wearing those impossible jackets of yours!"

"What do you mean by impossible jackets?" He realized his tone was playful to match hers, and he felt so endlessly relieved.

"All strict, and menacing, and black... You look like an undertaker!" She giggled again and quickly kissed his cheek.

"I am an barrister, darling, I am to be strict and menacing!" He laughed and then saw a strange expression on her face. "What is it?"

"You called me 'darling'," she blushed again, and he found it endearing, "I suddenly felt as a proper wife to you."

"You are a proper wife to me, Wren," he kissed her tenderly, "It just took us a bit longer to realize it." She smiled, and then suddenly her hands ran down his torso from his shoulders, over his ribcage, and lay on his waist. It was a surprisingly bold caress from a proper woman, and he saw her still, studying his reaction. He lowered his lips to her ear and whispered, "That was endlessly pleasant, darling. Could you please do it again?" She was immobile for an instant, and then he felt her fingers move on his waist. He realized she was hesitantly bunching up his shirt, and he trembled in anticipation. The pulps of her digits brushed his skin on his lower back, and he gasped. She immediately halted. "Please, Wren..." Her palms lay on his skin, and she pushed her hands up his back.

"I am starting to think that excessive propriety might be another reason for why people despise such happenings so much," her voice was coarse, he never heard her like that, and his skin immediately covered in goosebumps. "Surely all these layers of fabric must be robbing the participants of pleasure." Her tone was teasing, and he slightly rose to look into her face. It was mischievous and excited, and he felt impish.

He cocked one brow and asked, "Then perhaps you would agree to return the favour and allow me some exploration of your skin as well?" She gulped, and her lashes fluttered. But then she narrowed her eyes at him, and he realized a sarcastic answer was coming.

"I am only evening our score, John. You are already much more familiar with my body than I am with yours. You had a chance to undress me in my inebriated state." It was his turn to blush, and heady, burning heat spilled on his cheekbones from the memories of that night. She giggled and quickly kissed the tip of his nose. "And it is only fair if you get acquainted with my anatomy as I am right now familiar with yours. Since you are not wearing any trousers, which you probably have forgotten." Apparently she was not done mocking him, and he guffawed.

"Oh no, my darling vixen, I am very much aware of my bareness. After all your dress has bunched up, and there is no fabric between our private parts." She blinked frantically several times. His member was indeed pressed to her thigh but she wasn't familiar with male anatomy enough to understand which part was brushing her tender skin.

"Do you know that proper women take baths in dresses?" She suddenly asked, and he lifted his brows from the suddenness of her statement and from its content as well. Surely, such custom was uncomfortable. "And when changing we are expected to close our eyes. We are not supposed to look at our own naked bodies!" Her tone was irritated, and he smiled to her softly,

"And have you?"

"Of course!" She stated firmly, and he moved a curl that fell on her face with the tips of his fingers. Now that they seemed to understand each other better and speak more openly, he remembered why he fell in love with her at the first place. She was brave, defiant, wilful and endlessly curious. "I have to say I found my own anatomy rather disappointing." She sounded as if she was warning him, and he looked at her warmly. "Other women are much more enticing… And with my club sisters, we once visited a house with the fallen women, to bring medicine and other supplies, and some of them were undressed, they were so gorgeous..." He silenced her with a kiss. He didn't like her berating herself, and also he wanted to go back to the discussion of taking off clothes. She readily submitted to the change of the subject, and after a few moments he felt her move her slender leg up and down, rubbing her calf to his. It was new and worked wonders for his already painful erection. He couldn't control himself, and his teeth sank into her plump bottom lip slightly. She made a throaty sound, and her knee flew up, bestowing him with a rather sensitive blow in his crotch. He hissed and jerked away from her.

"I am so sorry!" She squeaked and pressed her hands to her cheeks. "I don't know how it happened!" He shook his head trying to show her he wasn't upset, but she kept on fretting. "John, I am sorry, you did this thing… With your teeth, and I felt strange pressure in my stomach, and the leg flew… Are you hurt?" Two things happened at the same time. He noticed how strong her Irish accent was when she was upset or uncomfortable, and apparently even more so when she would talk about the sensations in her own body. And at the same time he realized she grabbed the blanket and jerked it off him to no doubt examine his injury.

**XXX**

She was frozen, her mouth slightly open, eyes twice their usual size. He felt an urgent desire to cover up again, but then he realized she was stretching her hand to his member seemingly without her will, and he suddenly imagined how it would feel to have her fingers envelop it, as he would do it himself previous to pleasure himself, and he gulped. She blinked and then stared at her own hand in shock. She jerked it back and cleared her throat. He thought he could cry of disappointment.

"Have you ever seen one, Wren?" She clenched her jaw and then decisively lifted her chin.

"Not when it was erect. I once had a chance to visit an anatomical theatre, but as you can understand on a corpse..." She vaguely waved her hand in the air. He felt that was the moment to determine their further proceedings and how comfortable they were to be in their future "coming together". With all his heart he hoped they could be open, and a thrilling thought of exploring carnal pleasures together made him hold his breath, but he didn't want to pressure her. She had already opened up to him, trusted him, that was enough.

"Oh dear..." Her voice was small, "Please do not think me wanton, but you are not covering up so I will just ask," she seemingly couldn't tear her eyes off his member, and he felt like yelling at her to hurry her up, "Could I please…?"

"Goodness, Wren, yes! Oh please, yes!" He realized he rather shouted at her, but she smiled blissfully, and her small hot palm lay on his member. It twitched under her hand, and he groaned throatily. She froze, her hand shaking. Suddenly she laughed loudly and shortly kissed his lips.

"Oh John, I am so happy I married you, and we are finally open with each other!" He shook his head to at least partially clear out the daze of his arousal to respond in equally affectionate words to her when she stroke his member in a feathery motion. He dropped his head back and moaned.

"It is so..." She started excitedly, but then shied away and choked on her own words. "Oh, we are not supposed to talk about it!" Her tone was doubtful though, and he covered her hand with his. He opened his eyes and looked at her.

"We can talk about anything we want, Wren, it is just the two of us here." She licked her lips, and he clenched his teeth to control himself. He felt several different urges, each more daring than another, but in a strange way whatever was happening between them was even enough. "So what is it like, darling?" His tone was purposefully playful, and she grinned to him.

"Hot, smooth, different..." He released her hand hoping she would move it again. She did, and he closed his eyes and tried to take measured breaths in. She slid her palm up and down his length, and then brushed its middle with her thumb. "It twitches," she giggled, and he groaned.

"Darling, I am sorry to interrupt your exploration but I have to confess I am finding it almost impossible to control myself." He met her eyes and repeated to himself that they were striving for openness. "It is very uncomfortable… For a man to be in such state and not seek release..."

"Do you mean ejaculation?" She twitched her nose again, obviously trying to seem calmer than she was. He nodded.

"I do not pressure you, my darling, but one way or another I need to… It is not painful, but I can hardly think straight already..."

She gave him a thoughtful look and then said decisively, "Show me what to do, John." He couldn't believe his ears and stared at her. "I am certain you have reached your release on your own numerous times, tell me what to do, and I will try to…" He jerkily sat up and pulled her to himself.

"Darling, I meant I would go to my study and then come back so we could talk more, and perhaps spend some time in each other's embrace! By no means I expect you to address my discomfort! Goodness, Wren, I would never demand you to..."

"I want to," her tone was firm, and he looked at her in doubt. "I do, John, I want to. I want to give you pleasure." Even her small adorable ears were burning, but she squared her shoulders. "You are patient with me, and we will soon proceed to other activities, but for now… Let me do it for you. And I want to!" Her tone changed a bit, "It is endlessly curious. And pleasant, this part of you is surprisingly pleasant!" He laughed shakily, and she kissed a corner of his lips. "All of you is pleasant to me." He was fighting with himself. He kept telling himself she did not know what she was offering, but goodness, he wanted to allow her! Suddenly she placed her hands on his chest and pushed him back onto the sheets. He was so shocked that she managed to overpower his so much larger and stronger body. She didn't give him a moment to change his mind and sat between his legs. He felt momentarily terrified that the acute unease that he felt would make his organ lose its erectness. But then he saw her half open lips, copper curls scattered in her shoulders and curiosity splashing in her eyes, and he stopped worrying. Her hand decisively lay on his length, and he saw some sort of greedy fire in her eyes.

He threw all propriety aside and rasped, "Encircle it with your hand and move it up and down. Do not squeeze too hard, but there has to be pressure…" He felt so muddled with arousal that although he knew he would agonize over his current behaviour later he had no self-control left. She followed his instructions, and her small hand started moving. With each stroke his hips would buck into her hand, he thought in terror he had forgotten all shame, but it felt so exhilarating, and it was her, his Wren, his wife, his love!... He raspily growled and released into her hand. Her hand halted, and he covered it with his, squeezing his length in her fist, and moved it through his climax. His eyes were squeezed shut, and once his consciousness returned to him he realised he was breathing heavily and loudly. He needed to open his eyes and face her. Surely she was disgusted, perhaps appalled, insulted… He heard her giggle, and his eyes flew open.

"That is surely not what I expected," he couldn't believe what he saw. She was sitting between his legs, her hand still locked around his softened member, encircled by his much bigger hand, her head slightly tilted to one side, and a blissful smile was adorning her face. "Now I see why it is called a climax. That is quite an event!" She giggled again, and he released her hand. Sanity has returned to him, the frantic tension of the few minutes ago leaving his body, and the full realization of what had just transpired dawned at him. He pulled a sheet from under the covers, and pressing it to his body he quickly excused himself and rushed to the bath chamber. There he cleaned his body, and his eyes caught his reflection in the mirror. His hair in disarray, cheeks burning, he shook his head, and exhaling deeply he stepped back into the bedroom. The light was on again, and his wife was sitting in the middle of the bed, her small feet tucked under her. She looked rather smug, and he had to admit she had every right to.


	7. Chapter 7

He slowly approached her and sat on the bed. She immediately moved to him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and he pulled her closer, enjoying the already familiar warmth of her body. He wanted to ask whether she was disappointed in him for his inappropriate behaviour, but she seemed so content that he just kissed her. She seemed to be more than satisfied with such proceedings, and to his own shock he felt his arousal stir again from her enthusiastic caresses. She was much freer now, her small hands roamed his torso, and then her lips slid on his cheek and then his jaw, and she softly chuckled. She moved slightly away and brushed the tips of her fingers on his cheek.

"There is already stubble," she sounded somehow pleased with it, and his brows jumped up. She pressed her lips under his sideburn. "I never see you at this time of the day, and you are cleanly shaved in the morning." He couldn't understand why she seemed so excited about it, but he decided it didn't matter. Her soft kisses on the sides of his face, on the other hand, seemed to agitate him again. He considered asking her to stop, but then decided against it. Instead he wrapped his arms around her and gently toppled her into the sheets. She seemed rather appeased by such development, and to his shock she suddenly shifted, and her legs locked around his hips. Her dress moved higher, and through the sheet that he had secured around his lower half he felt the warmth of her skin. He thought she felt much safer and freer because she assumed he was satisfied. He felt momentarily worried that she would lose her current state of ease, once she felt his renewed arousal through the sheet, but suddenly she pushed her fingers into his hair again.

"I would like to try now, John," her tone was soft, and she blushed charmingly, "And something tells me you do too." This new tentative suggestiveness made him look at her agape, and she bit into her bottom lip. She suddenly seemed so beautiful to him, her remarkable hair scattered on the pillow, eyes brilliant, and this new enticing side of her made his member rise fully, and he pressed his lips to hers. They spend a few minutes caressing each other, her movement full of this new confidence, and he felt his head spin again.

"Wren, my darling… Let me put out the light..." She released him, and he swiftly moved in the room, extinguishing the oil lamp. He returned to bed and brushed his hands on the sheets in the darkness. He understood she was under covers, and governed by some sudden urge he unwrapped the sheet from around his hips and slid under the blanket.

She was bare. His hands he pushed towards her met her smooth skin, her soft stomach and minuscule waist, and he jerked them back in shock. She was apparently holding her breath, because he couldn't hear anything, and he rushed to provide assurance that she obviously was hoping for.

"Oh, my darling, thank you..." He breathed out, and she moved under the sheets and pressed her body into his.

"John, could you please take off your shirt? I would like to touch you..." The darkness made her more forward, and he readily complied. Her palms slid on his chest, and she hesitantly stroked his upper body. "You are so beautiful… I know it is not said to men, but you are, my darling..." He could see her face now, so close to his, his eyes having already accustomed to the darkness, and he caught her mouth and felt her moan into their kiss. He rolled her on her back, and his erection pressed to her center. She gasped, but her arms around his neck only encircled him tighter.

"My darling, I am afraid to hurt you..." He murmured between his kisses, placed on her neck and then lower, to the delicate clavicles and shoulders that tortured him in her opera dresses. They were exquisite, and he couldn't seem to satisfy his greedy hunger and pressed his lips to her skin again and again.

"It couldn't be avoided…." Her voice was slightly trembling, and he lifted his face.

"Perhaps, we should distract you from it somehow..." He was certain generations before him surely had come to the same conclusion as him, but to him such idea suddenly seemed so innovative and ingenious that he laughed. "Wren, we should cause as much pleasure in you as possible… To balance the pain..." She looked at him with widened eyes. "Tell me what feels good, my darling, tell me..." She timidly smiled.

"Everything you do feels wonderful… All of it is rather magical, and seems to echo…" Her eyes shifted, and he noticed her accent again. He remembered his previous assumption.

"Echo? Oh!" He shifted his hips slightly to the side, splayed his hand on her lower stomach, and all her body jolted noticeably. "Do you mean there…?" He edged his hand a bit lower, and she gasped.

"John, are you even supposed to?..." He never found out what she was planning to say, as his fingers brushed her curls for the first time, and suddenly she loudly moaned and arched on the bed. It was such an unrestrained demonstration of pleasure that it took all his willpower not to roll over her and push inside her. He tenderly moved his fingers on her, and she mumbled something.

"Is it Gaelic, my darling wife?" She nodded and looked at him with half-lidded eyes.

"Please, more..." His heart jumped from her vulnerable and earnest plea, and he moved his fingers again, he didn't know much but he assumed that circular motions were a safe choice. Keeping his movement feathery, light, he attentively listened to the changes in her breathing and the soft little moans that would escape her lips, and then she suddenly whimpered and arched on the sheets. Her body quaked violently, and he realized that it was indeed how a climax looked in a female. It was the most beautiful spectacle he had ever had an honour to witness. Her lips half opened, her back strained, her fingers dug into the sheets, and then she fell down, limp and trembling. "Oh, John..."

For a few seconds they were silent, she lay with her eyes closed, her lips trembling, and he watched her mesmerized. Her eyes slowly opened, and she looked at him. "I have never experienced this before. I have read of course, but it is supposed to be sinful and… reproachable… A woman is not to enjoy her duties..." Her eyes were laughing, and confirming his suspicion that she didn't share this opinion he heard her giggle. "I am inclined to think such opinion is nonsense. That was magical." He smiled to her, but then saw her frown slightly. "We should have stopped though..."

"Why? Surely you do not regret it! I don't!" He felt almost apprehensive. It was such a magnificent experience for him that he couldn't let anything or anyone, even her, tarnish what had just transpired between them. She gently stroked the side of his face.

"At some point of what was happening..." Her voice wavered, and she cleared her throat, "There was this sensation, it was like hunger… And I felt I wanted you to… And I didn't even care if there were pain involved… I just craved more closeness… It was probably a favourable moment for…" She trailed away and chewed on her bottom lip.

"Oh my darling, thank you for being open with me!" He peppered small kisses on her lips and cheeks. "I am happy that you strive to be honest and frank with me."

"Haven't we decided it to be so between us?" He nodded and smiled into her eyes.

"We have, and you are succeeding triumphantly, my darling." He brushed his thumb on her lips and kissed a corner of her mouth. "I adore your lips, Wren. They are so beautiful…"

Her brows jumped up. "You have strange tastes, John." A tinge of her usual sarcasm was back into her tone, and he chuckled.

"Indeed," he laughed, "They seem to involve your hair, neck, shoulders, clavicles," he would kiss each part he named, and then he threw an impish look at her, "Breasts..." She gasped and jerked under his lips. He had never before touched woman's breasts so unrestrictedly, and he found it exhilarating. His lips closed over her nipple, and she raspily moaned. He recognised the sound, it was the same coarse exhale as the one he elicited out of her when he touched her curls, and in a strike of inventiveness he sucked the nipple into his mouth, simultaneously pushing his index finger down and onto her folds. She seemed rather overwhelmed by his actions, and her hands flailed on the sheets. Perhaps it was a favourable time for further proceedings, but he was enjoying himself too much and seemingly giving her so much pleasure that he almost had forgotten that they initially planned such actions to be a prelude to other acts.

But then she whispered, "Now, John, please… I think it is time..." And he followed her command and covered her body with his. She spread her legs accommodating him, and his tip brushed her entrance. Her whole body started shaking, and he felt her tense. He quickly cupped her face and caught her mouth in a forceful kiss. He was rather overwhelmed himself, by her closeness, by the understanding of the importance of what was transpiring between them, by her trust and her love, but a shred of his mind that was still unclouded by his fervour reminded him he needed to distract his little wife. As his mouth was busy on her lips, he shifted, and supporting himself on one elbow he cupped her breast with another hand. He remembered the caress that caused her to moan, and he brushed his thumb over her pebbled peak in a soft circular movement. She made a small pleased noise, and he pushed into her.

She screamed and thrashed under him, her hands flew up, and short nails dug into his upper arms. "Oh John, it is so painful..." She sobbed, and he felt panicked. He assumed that perhaps they would be blessed as they seemed to be doing so well with less suffering for her, but then he saw tears running down her face, and tried to shy away from her. Suddenly her legs wrapped around his hips, and she held him to herself. "No, no, no, stay… It will subside… I'm begging you, stay..." Her voice was breaking, her face contorted in acute pain, and he didn't know what to do.

"Wren, I'm hurting you… Goodness, my love, let me go..." She violently shook her head and grabbed onto his shoulders with her small hands.

"No, I am not letting you go… You have to move, John, you have to finish it..."

"Finish?!" He was on the verge of tears himself already, and now it turned out it was not done yet! "I can't, Wren, I can't… Not when you are in so much pain..."

She sobbed and whispered, "I will not have courage to try ever again if you leave me now… You have to finish… I'm begging you..."

"Wren..."

"If you love me, do it." Her tone was firm, despite the shaking hands and tear filled eyes, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He inhaled deeply and sheathed his length fully into her. He felt the obstacle on his path, he clenched his jaws in despair, pushed further, and then it was gone. She was silent, and he hastily opened his eyes. Her jaws were clenched as well, and he saw a stain on her lips. She had bitten into her bottom lip and drew blood.

"Wren… Oh my darling, I am so sorry… Oh forgive me, oh Lord, what have I done?" His whole body was shaking, and she opened her eyes.

"You did what I asked you to, John," her voice was hardly audible, and she tried to smile. Her lips twisted in a grimace though, and she swallowed with difficulty. "I believe it is done..."

"How much pain are you in, Wren?" She winced and tried to avoid his eyes. "Wren, do not hide it from me..."

"It is subsiding now, but it is acute… John, if you do not require completion..." She didn't need to ask him twice, he quickly but gently withdrew, and she gasped. She was taking in short, shallow breaths, and he sat up on the bed.

"Darling, would you like me to turn on the light? Or perhaps even walk you to the bath chambers?" She sighed, nodded and awkwardly sat on the bed. He stretched and turned the handle on the oil lamp. They both looked and saw blood stains on the cover they apparently had ended up on, his member, softened by the emotional turmoil, and her night dress. His thighs were covered too, and he grew pale. He didn't expect it be so abundant. He lifted his eyes at her. She was sitting leaning back on the headboard, her eyes closed.

"Wren?" Her lashes flew up, her eyes brilliant and a strange emotion splashing in them.

"I am relieved. It is done… And grateful…"

"I hurt you, Wren," he rasped, and his voiced seemed so unpleasant to him, "What are you grateful for?"

"You gave me my choice. You let me decide and guide this. I couldn't have asked for more than that." She smiled shyly to him, and he pulled her to him.

"It should be better next time..." She murmured.

"I am certain it will be." He released her and climbed off the bed. He helped her to walk to the bath chamber, she was wobbly on her feet, and waited for her to attend to her needs behind the screen. He hastily wiped blood of his body as well, and she stepped from around the screen wearing a clean nightgown. He already had put on his breeches, and she stepped into his embrace.

"Will you stay in our bed tonight, please? It is way overdue..." He chuckled and kissed the crown of her hair.

"Of course, darling." He led her back. He jerked the bloodied cover off the bed, and they both slid under the blanket. She settled in his arms, and he sighed. "It feels wonderful, Wren. Having you in my arms..." She rubbed her nose to the underside of his jaw, and he felt thrilled by this new, so affectionate caress.

"I feel like I belong here..." Her voice was sleepy, and he kissed her hair again.

"Good night, darling."

"Good night, John."


	8. Chapter 8

John woke up first, pressing the soft and warm body of his sleeping wife to him. Her face was tucked into his neck, her silk like copper curls scattered on their pillows and his chest, and his heart clenched. Without her usual elegant hairdo, intricate attires, and jewellery she seemed so young and innocent! And then the events of last night came back to him, rushing in a wave of thrilling and terrifying memories. She had submitted to him last night, he remembered her body arching in rapture, and immediately the picture was replaced in his mind with the memory of tears running down her cheeks, her face distorted in a grimace of acute pain. He felt piercing tenderness towards her and gently brushed a curl off her cheek. She slightly stirred in her sleep and then moved even closer to him, her slender arm wrapping around his waist. Her amazingly soft skin on the inner side of her elbow brushed his stomach, and he felt goosebumps run his torso. He gazed on her face, her features content. Even in her sleep she seemed to be trustful towards him, and he closed eyes silently thanking Heaven for this.

A few minutes later he realized he needed to get up. He had matters to attend, he was after all a highly sought out barrister, but he could not seem to make himself abandon her. He had a fleeting thought of perhaps waking her up, perhaps with a kiss, just to receive a confirmation that what had transpired in the darkness of their bedroom hadn't lost its validity now, when the sun was rising over the gloomy foggy roofs, but he berated himself for sentimentality and rose. She stirred again, her delicate hand weakly brushed the sheets, as if seeking his warmth, and then she stilled.

He took a bath hastily and had his breakfast in his study just as before, just to avoid explaining to the servants that the arrangements in the house were perhaps to change now, though he did hope they would, and left for service. All day he was distracted, and Lord Balinson, his mentor and long time friend, even asked him if any sort of grievance had befallen any of his family members. To that John laughed, unable to contain strange excitement bubbling in him, and shook his head. "Everything is quite well at home, thank you, Kenneth."

By the dinner time, John started suspecting that the universe was at plot to decisively keep him away from home for as long as possible. Every conceivable affair that needed to be addressed, every person to ever having a slightest inclination to talk to him, as well as letters, bell boys and conversations that people just had to have with him kept him in the House of Commons, and then his office, and afterwards the club past any reasonable time.

He had to have his dinner there, and when he finally came home, most lights inside were put out. He entered the parlour and after exchanging a few words with the butler, he rushed upstairs. He felt nervous, and with each step he seemed to move slower and slower. Was she already in bed? What was the advisable thing to do, enter with a knock, enter without a knock or go to his study, allowing her to come to him? He realized he was no longer running jumping over every second step but slowly walked on the first landing between the floors, when suddenly his wife stepped out of the shadow and wrapped her arms around his waist.

All his doubts and uneasiness immediately gone, he embraced her in return. She pressed her face into his sternum and sighed. "I am behaving endlessly inappropriate, but I just couldn't wait anymore to see you… I am hiding on the stair landing like a child at Christmas..." He laughed, out of sheer happiness, and from her small voice that sounded so utterly embarrassed.

"Oh Wren, I hated every minute of this day. I missed you desperately, my darling." She moved slightly back, and their eyes met. The landing was dim, and he cupped her face. "Oh my darling, I do want to come back home to this every evening… I quite enjoy being treated as a long awaited Christmas gift." She laughed softly in return, and he leaned in to kiss her.

At that moment the butler stepped out of one of the rooms, a lamp in his hand, and the landing was suddenly lit rather brightly. Wren jerked in his hands and took a hasty step away from him. That made him laugh even harder. The butler politely nodded and left for the kitchen.

"Oh goodness, why do I always seem to find myself in such circumstances?" Wren pressed her palms to her burning cheeks, and he quickly stepped to her and pulled her into tight embrace.

"There is nothing embarrassing in the circumstances you have found yourself in just now, darling. You are entitled to be happy to greet your husband back home from service. And I assure you, Perkins is more than content at the moment. He has been in my family for so long that I am certain he is relieved that my marital circumstances improved." His words didn't seem to bring any relief to his wife.

"Oh Lord, they must have judged me so harshly, for being such a horrible wife to you, making you sleep on that sofa..." She continued her agitated talking, but he stopped listening, suddenly remembering that last night he was fortunate enough to repose very much not on that sofa. He quickly leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. She made a small surprised sound, but then her arms immediately lay around his neck, and she even rose on the tips of her toes to accommodate his impressive height.

The kiss that started chastely had been heating up quite quickly, and to his own surprise he found in his arms not a weakened, half-conscious maiden that was a customary image of romantic stories and cards, but a young woman who enthusiastically explored his lips, her fingers once again sliding into his hair, making him breathe faster and faster. He wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her up and along his body. He found her fervour for him endlessly thrilling. And then she halted, pushed away from him and took a large breath in.

"John, we need to talk," her voice was coarse, and she cleared her throat. "Could we possibly go to your study?"

If he were to be honest with himself, he had hoped they would walk to their bedroom now, but then he scolded himself, reminding himself that while for him last night was endlessly pleasurable, she could have had quite a different impression from it. She could also be physically ill, afflicted by yesterday's ordeal, and then he remembered the amount of blood she shed, and he blanched.

"Of course, my darling," he picked up her hand and pressed her knuckles to his lips.

They entered, and she sat down on the sofa. Her posture was rather rigid, and he thought with unease that perhaps she was suffering from physical discomfort or possibly even ache. She swallowed with difficulty and lifted her eyes at him.

"I will be honest with you, John, the encounter with Perkins on the landing made me think… I just felt it necessary to let you to know, with all our emotional turmoil aside, I appreciate your marrying me. I understand how much such affiliation has impaired your reputation..." He hastily sat near her on the sofa and picked up her small hands. He realized they were shaking. A hasty thought rushed through his mind that she had always seemed so reserved and composed to him because he hadn't paid attention to the small details, such as the hardly noticeable tremour in her delicate fingers. She possessed an impressive will power that allowed her preserve her dignity and seem somewhat even intimidating to those who knew her little. He seemed to be learning more about her and understanding her better.

"Darling, you have not afflicted..."

"Please, do not interrupt me, John. I find it hard to talk about it, but I feel I need to finish my thought. I am a known suffragette, and many assume I'm of loose manners, and my transgression with Frederick had only confirmed such public opinion of me..."

"It was not your fault!"

"But it was," she lifted her pained eyes at him, "I did go to meet him after dark in a secluded place… Whether I thought I was meeting him or you, matters not." She lowered her face again, and he thought with pity that had she lived in a different time perhaps her will, liberal views and her determination to face her own flaws could have been considered an immense virtue. These days she was seen as much as a fallen woman.

"Has someone said something to you, Wren?" Her body jolted, and he realized he guessed right. "Was it Dea? My mother?"

She shook her head, a tiny flaming curl jumped at the back of her delicate, defenceless neck, and he thought that she was most likely lying to spare his feelings.

"I was foolish, I was naive… I distinctly remember feeling so progressive, so brave when I entered the carriage he sent for me… I was blind, John, how could I have assumed you would do something of the sort? No wonder you couldn't even look at me..."

"Darling," he didn't know how to console her and simply pulled her into a tight embrace, "I do not blame you, you have nothing to justify… And what is this nonsense about my lack of desire to look at you?" He moved her away, and holding her on the arm's length he smiled to her. "I am very fond of looking at you."

"You left me in the opera… I do not know if you remember, but you left me alone. Did you hate being seen with me?" Her voice was almost inaudible, and he saw her clench her small fists.

"What? Do you mean at the evening of 'Traviata"?" She nodded, and he couldn't help but laugh. She looked at him with a frown. "Oh, Wren, my darling, forgive my laughter, but it is simply ridiculous how little we seem to understand about each other's feeling. I fled the loge because I seemed to be unable to look at anything but your shoulders in the opera dress." She stared at him aghast, and he laughed louder. "Your customary dresses are so demure, my darling, almost stern, and then all this silk and that gauzy fabric..."

"It is parisian silk tulle, I ordered it for you, John..." She muttered, still seemingly in complete shock from his words. And then she shifted on the sofa and hid her face on his chest, under his starched collar. "I am so plain, I hoped an exquisite dress would make you at least slightly proud of me… I wanted you to regret marrying me at least a little bit less..."

"Wren," he cupped the back of her head, with acute pleasure filling his palm with her pinned up curls, "My darling, you do not seem even remotely plain to me! And the only aspect of this marriage I regretted was that you had entered it against your will, without genuine desire to be my wife… You do not have to impress the society to make me value you as my wife! Had the society ostracised you completely, I wouldn't have cared, but, darling, I assure you it is not so. We are still a common subject of gossip, but I believe we are just known as a couple that was fortunate enough to fall in love with each other before the wedding, and might have gotten slightly overwhelmed by their passion..." He chuckled. "But no harm's done, we are married now and soon people will forget the circumstances of our betrothal."

She sat quietly for a few seconds, one of her narrow palm on his vest over his heart, and then he heard her sigh.

"But you can't forget that you yourself, John, have thought me wanton. You doubted my chastity… You said so in the carriage after that unfortunate dinner with your family..." Her tone was even but by now he realized that she possessed enough collectedness to keep her tone nonchalant even in matters that pained her most.

"I have not thought of you less for that, Wren." She jerkily sat up and looked at him with widened, astounded eyes. "I was jealous. I did not think of my reputation, I thought of you in the arms of another man, and I was unfair. I'll admit I was enraged, but not by your morals..." He found it hard to speak of it, but he thought he owed her his frankness. "A thought of another man... But had we indeed have a private rendezvous in those gardens, had it been I and not Fred there..." He took a deep shaking breath in, "And if anything had transpired, I wouldn't have thought less of you."

He met her eyes, full of doubt and hope, and then she threw herself on his neck and sobbed. "Oh John..." She seemed so overwhelmed that she spoke no more, and he just held her in his arms, gently stroking her shoulder blades through the demure fabric of her dress.

She collected herself rather quickly and moved away from him. Her eyes were brilliant, and he felt a surge of adoration towards her. She chuckled tentatively and tucked a curl behind her ear. "We indeed should endeavour speaking our mind more clearly in the future. Since we are blessed with luxury of valuing each other opinions and caring for each other, it would only logical to be earnest with each other."

He cupped her face and placed feathery kiss on her cheek. "Indeed, my darling."


	9. Chapter 9

They sat in silence for a few moment, his thumb stroking the knuckles of her hand, and then she chuckled. "It is rather late, darling, should we go to bed?" She got up without waiting for his answer, and he followed her example. "I am rather exhausted today, I have to say…" She went towards the door into their inner parlour, and he told himself not to read too much into her words, when she half turned her head to him, and he saw a slightly mischievous expression on it, "Although I had a wonderful night sleep today."

He chuckled and followed her into their bedroom. He was getting increasingly nervous but it was a pleasant sensation, some sort of excited anticipation. She stepped into the room but then quickly turned around and pressed into him. Their lips met, and he pulled her even closer, enjoying the feeling of her small body under his hands. She was wearing an adorable outfit, some sort of a small, close fitting jacket, yellow and closed with a row of tiny buttons, and a wide striped skirt. Altogether she looked so fresh, so young, but the lack of details and jewelry certainly gave the impression of confidence and delegated her suffragette views. He remembered how a few minutes ago she mentioned in passing that she considered herself plain, and his lips slid from her mouth to her jaw, which elicited a soft gasp from her, then he moved up and whispered into her ear, "You are charming, my darling. I find you so enticing..." Her small hands stopped their frantic travelling over his shoulders, and he felt her tense. He pressed his lips to the burning ear lobe, and a runaway curl tickled his nose.

"I'm starting to doubt the soundness of your judgement, John," the tentative flirtiness in her tone made him bolder, and he caught the lobe between his lips. A small hum, almost a moan, escaped her lips, and he felt her sag slightly in his arms.

"Darling, you are bewitching..." He rasped, and then he decided to throw any proprietary aside, since frankness seemed to work best in his marriage. "Wren, if you feel capable and willing to indulge in our marital relations today, I would very much like you to take this, given endlessly enticing, dress off."

She suddenly laughed loudly and openly, "These are trousers, John. I was so impatient to meet you that I spent the whole evening pacing the living room, and stayed in my day attire." She continued laughing, and he looked into her happy eyes. "And then I realized I was wearing this frivolous outfit and I was agonising that you'd disapprove, but couldn't bring myself to leave the parlour. I feel so silly right now!" He laughed with her and then stepped away from her, still holding her hands and gave her a look over. She blushes furiously.

"This is endlessly charming, but certainly doesn't look like trousers, my dear. Are you certain?" She laughed even louder.

"Yes, John, they are for bike riding. I am rather fond of it to be honest. Although I know it is frowned upon for a married woman of my status," she gave him an impish look, "I am after all married to a distinguished barrister and a soon to be Member of Parliament."

He guffawed and pulled her in. "Are you following my career, darling?"

"I'm following the Archer-Cadberry case, as you can imagine." He lifted one brow, and she chuckled. "And of course, yes, I do follow your career. You are showing an amazing promise in your liberal endeavours, as well as it turned out you had signed the open letter regarding Ms. Kenney's arrest. I feel rather ashamed that I had previously believed in your pretense to condemn my cause while you yourself seemed to have supported the Women's Social and Political Union."

"Do not think too highly of me, darling," he quickly kissed her, her words were making him pleased though slightly bashful. "I've only protested against the proceedings of that case! Do not expect me to walk around with the "Vote for Women" banner and a ribbon across my chest." She laughed and shook her head.

"But you would look so lovely in it!" She brushed her palms over his chest, and then they stilled on the buttons of his vest. "And yes, John, I am capable and willing." He first looked at her in confusion, but then he realized she was answering his earlier question. Her cheeks were burning, and she bashfully touched one of the buttons. "I think I am… I do not know, it all is so new, but I feel well..." She timidly lifted her eyes at him, and he smiled to her encouragingly. "Would you allow me some frivolity, John?"

"Of course, my darling, what would you like?"

"Could I possibly take off your tie?" She was looking at his vest again, no doubt to hide her embarrassment, and he quickly kissed the knuckles of firstly one, and then the other of her small hands.

"I'd be delighted, darling." Her fingers tentatively lay on the black ribbon of his Ascot tie, and after a pause she pulled. It untangled and slipped from around his neck. Something sharply changed in her eyes, she threw it aside, and grabbing his collar she pulled him down and into a passionate kiss. Such unexpected open and greedy expression of desire took him by surprise so much that he stood frozen for a second or two, and she soon halted as well. She attempted to move away from him, but he grabbed her around her waist. "Oh no, no, do not retreat from me, I was just astonished… Please, Wren..."

"Oh, John, I am so looking forward to the time when this suffocating awkwardness is over!" She suddenly exclaimed and pressed her palms to her cheeks. "I am hoping with time, once we become more familiar with each other, it will become easier… "

He chuckled and looked warmly at the crown of her head. He thought that men tend to have such a limited attention when it comes to their wives. Why would he all of a sudden notice the exquisite colour of her locks? She had been in front of him for months, but when asked he probably wouldn't be able to remember it besides the fact that she was indeed a redhead. And now he stood mesmerized by the light playing on the flaming curls.

"It will, darling. Perhaps for now we should change in our according rooms, and then come back here…" She nodded solemnly, but then he saw the corners of her red lips curve up a bit.

"Although divesting you of your tie was an exquisite and rather thrilling pleasure." She bit into her bottom lip and to his shock quickly opened the top button of his vest. He held his breath not to scare off her playfulness, and other buttons followed. Her narrow palms slid around his waist and met at his back. He felt them through the thin shirt and shuddered. She pressed her face to his chest and sighed.

"I think my courage ran out," she muttered, and he brushed his fingers at her nape, under the hairline, where a few jolly spirals of her hair lay on the pale skin.

She twisted out of his hands and took a few steps back. "Shall I see you in half an hour, John?" She looked endlessly decorous, as if making an official appointment, and he chuckled.

"You shall, darling."

**XXX**

He came back to the bedroom first and sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for her. A few minutes full of anticipation later she stepped into the room, in a nightgown and a silk peignoir. He saw her exhale and decisively approach to sit near him. Driven by some sudden inspiration he grasped her around her waist, his hands almost encircling it, and pulled her to sit on his lap. She laughed in a soft, silver voice, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"My mother used to sit like that with my father," she spoke quietly, a genuine warmth in her tone, "In the living room, if you can imagine it. I always thought it was so lovely, so intimate… And she once told me that love doesn't know conventions. I think back at it and realize how risque that was," she laughed some more, "But she was right. I think conventions can be paid no mind for the sake of such pleasure." He chuckled as well and buried his nose into her neck.

"You must miss them terribly. How old were you when they passed away?"

"Fourteen. I remember them well..." He looked at her face askew, she was slightly melancholic but not sad. "They were always together, I cannot seem to recall a single instance when they wouldn't be holding hands, or conversing, or just throwing each other glances. I once caught them kissing in the kitchen." She giggled. "It was a year before their accident, I was thirteen and I was so disgruntled! Can you believe that? They were kissing! I rushed out and my mother later joined me in the dressing room. She was so nonchalant and said that it happens when one marries for love. And she said," she bashfully brushed her fingers on the collar of his robe, "She said she hoped for the same for me."

"She hoped you would be inappropriately kissing your husband in a kitchen?" He asked mischievously, trying to distract her from the sad memories of her parents. She giggled again and kissed him quickly.

"Among other things, I supposed." She placed another quick kiss on the corner of his lips, and then another to his cheek. He tilted his head, offering her more access, and she gladly continued her caresses. Her lips slipped on his jaw, and his arms tightened around her.

His eyes fell on her tiny feet. From under a hem of her nightdress, made of Irish crochet, he saw a pair of dainty silk covered slippers peeking, with some pink flowers embroidered on them. The slippers were familiar, she wore them last night. They were lovely, she had minuscule feet, and he felt a surge of impulsive adoration for her. He cupped her face and looked into her eyes. And then a thought came.

"Darling, are these new attires?" Heady blushed poured on her cheekbones, and she hid her face into his neck.

"Yes," her voice was hardly audible, just a whisper, "I had them made for the wedding night, and then they just stayed in my wardrobe. I do not know what I was thinking… I had that silly hope, I suppose..." Her voice trailed completely, and he brushed his hand over her hair, let loose on her shoulders.

"It is exquisite, my love. And as it turns out your hopes were not that unreasonable. Although I have to say I am in danger of having an apoplectic attack, you are maddeningly enthralling!" She lifted her face, radiant and slightly flirtatious, and caught his mouth. They spent a few minutes in sweet caresses, and then his hands slid on her shoulders, and he pushed the heavy silk of her pale pink peignoir off her body. It pooled at her waist, and she gasped. Gentle blush was rising on the cleavage of her nightgown, its cut low, Empire line V-necked bodice, short squared sleeves of the same crochet as the bottom of her skirt. She was absolutely enchanting, and he dove in and pressed his lips to her clavicles. She dropped her head back, and suddenly her fingers clenched around handfuls of his hair.

"My darling, oh Wren..." He inclined her back, holding her in his arms securely, her shoulder blades on his splayed hands, and she made a soft throaty noise, half grasp, half moan. It seemed to be his undoing, and he closed his lips over her peak, through the chiffon.

She suddenly straightened up and pressed her forehead to his. "Oh, John, love me… Please, I am begging you, I am athirst for you..."

"And I am for you, me darling, you are my water, my air, my life..." He was murmuring feverishly, and then he turned on the bed, placing her on the sheets. She moved back, towards the pillows, and he rushed to her.

She was once again in his arms, and some sort of sensual frenzy overcame him. His hands were roaming her slender body, his lips followed, and then he was bunching up her dress, but she seemed no less hungry for him. She pushed his robe off his shoulders, he shook it off, and her deft little fingers quickly opened the row of buttons on his silk pajamas. Her bold actions paused for a moment, when her palms lay on the naked skin above his pajama trousers, but he moaned into her ear, his lips on the pulse beating on her neck, and exhaling shakily, she pushed her hands down, baring his rear. He helped her, his organ an unexpected obstacle for his trousers, and they both laughed in light, shared amusement.

Finally their bodies intertwined, naked skin to naked skin, she spread her knees accommodating him, his tip pressed to her center, and they both stilled, overwhelmed by the moment.


	10. Chapter 10

Her eyes closed, and he whispered, "Wren, my darling, look at me… I need your guidance in this." Her lashes fluttered, and he met her burning, feverish stare. "I am afraid to hurt you again… Tell me if it becomes too much..." She smiled to him slightly, and her hand gently lay on the back of his head.

He pushed his hips, for the first few moments a strange tension making both their bodies tremble, and he thought he met an obstacle again. She kept her eyes open and bit into her bottom lip. With panic he thought the circumstances of the last night were repeating themselves, and he halted. She brushed her hand over the back of his neck and slightly lifted the upper half of her body to kiss him tenderly.

"You are not hurting me, John. I think it is to be this way. I am rather small, and you are…" She stumbled over her words, and he pressed harder, encouraged by her reassurance and the loving warmth splashing in her eyes. He felt that his length fully sheathed in her, and she moaned slightly. "Oh John, it is exquisite…"

He had to agree with his wife on this account, the heat and the pressure on his member felt ecstatic, but even more so was the feeling of connectedness with her. She stroked his neck and shoulders, her small fingers ran into his hair, and he rocked his hips. She exhaled, and her slender legs shifted. He started moving, in long deep strokes, and with astonishment he watched his wife's face glow with pleasure. He caught her lips, she readily returned his kiss, and her body seemed to arch to meet him, to reciprocate, to answer to his thrusts. The sensations were indeed exquisite.

He moved slowly, his head spinning from tenderness and warmth, she was softly gasping with each of his thrusts, her strong little hands on his shoulders. He pressed his forehead to her shoulder, his breathing labourious and loud, but soon he started losing any understanding of what was transpiring and how he was behaving and how he could possibly be perceived, all he could sense was her small body in his arms, her soft moans, so obviously delegating her pleasure, and the increasing pressure of her walls on his member. His rhythm stuttered, he suddenly craved more, but a shred of sense left in him was making him restrain himself, it was her second night, there had been blood the night before, but his body thrust into hers more forcefully, deeper, hungrier, as if not under his power, she moaned louder, and he felt momentarily panicked. And then suddenly her right knee went up, higher on his hip, and then the second one followed its example, it changed the angle of his entering, made his sensations more acute, more intense, and he groaned loudly. Her palms were roaming his shoulders, and he lost control. He rose above her on his elbows, his back arched instinctively, and his thrusts became forceful and sharp, she cried out, and suddenly her hands pressed into his shoulders. He growled, he felt she was depriving him of this pleasure he had just discovered but suddenly he met her eyes, wide open and, as he thought, terrified, and he froze, suddenly understanding the animalistic urge that dominated his own behaviour without his will.

"Wren, have I...?" She was staring at him, her face tense, enormous black pupils flooding her irises, and he felt painfully ashamed. His flesh took control over his mind, and he had hurt her.

"Is that what you want?" She whispered, her eyes, still widely open, intense, roaming his face.

"Wren..." He did not know what to say, and she bit into her bottom lip.

"Because if it is what you crave… I will confess… I do too, John," heady blush was burning on her cheeks, and she looked endlessly embarrassed, but his wife was a brave woman, he stared at her in astounded admiration, "I do want this… unrestricted passion. Please..." Her whisper was almost inaudible, "Please..."

He claimed her mouth, relief and adoration flooding him, her lips opening for him and her mouth answering him eagerly, and he rocked his hips into her tentatively. She gasped into their kiss, and her short nails dug into his skin. He repeated the action, this time restraining his passion less, and she answered him with a lustful coarse moan. He moved more and more freely, allowing himself to enjoy what was transpiring fully, her sweet little body receiving him, responding to him, she seemed to lift her hips from the bed to meet him, and suddenly her slender legs wrapped around his hips. It was so sudden and so indecent and thrilling than it pushed him over the edge, and his first release in his intimacy with his wife took him.

He returned to his senses, realising he had dropped on her, his head pressed to the pillow near her temple, his breath coming out in sharp loud exhales. He felt immediately ashamed, of his weakness, and, as he could rather vaguely recall, for the last few uncivilised, almost brutal thrusts into her body before his climax. He could also recall rather animalistic noises he was making, and he felt his cheekbone to burn with shame.

She lay quietly, her eyes once again closed, face expressionless, and he lifted his torso above her, trying to see face better.

"Wren, my darling..." His voice was choked, and she opened her eyes and he could see tears in them. "My darling, I am so, so sorry..." He had destroyed everything!

"I was not prepared for this, John… They surely should educate women on this…" Her voice was shaking, "It is so overwhelming, so beautiful, so… consuming…." The tears ran out of her eyes, down her temples, and into the small curls near her ears. Her lips were trembling, but he felt hopeful. She did indeed call what had transpired beautiful.

"Darling, are you not hurt? Pained?" She suddenly emitted a short laugh, and he looked at her in confusion. He was trying to ignore the feeling on his member softening inside her. Her speaking and laughing just now made her inner muscles constrict, and it was both too sensitive and ticklish, and he felt a keen desire to shift, but he had to take care of his wife first.

"I would say I feel quite the opposite, John," her hand stroked the side on his face, and an astonishing wide smile bloomed on her face. "I am afraid you have a wanton wife. I have enjoyed our intimacy immensely. I am afraid nothing can compare to this pleasure." He understood she was joking, and he answered her with a hesitant smile, he still could not believe what he was hearing. "Perhaps it is even more pleasurable that riding a bicycle." That finally made him perceive her mood, and he started laughing, out of relief and pierce happiness, and he dropped his head on her shoulder, his whole body shaking, and suddenly she giggled.

"John, darling, can I ask you to move, please? I do not know how to explain..." He did, and she exhaled sharply.

"Was I tickling you inside?" He asked, hiding his face into her slender shoulder, and then he peeked only to see her covering her face with her hands.

"Yes," a muffled, very quiet answer was head from her shelter, and he laughed louder. Then she dropped her hands and looked at him, mischief and shyness mixed in her features, "Should we even discuss these matters so openly?"

"I think we should," he placed a small kiss on her lace covered shoulder again, "It seems to be a rather exquisite pleasure apparently, an additional joy," he sounded as surprised as he felt.

"It is," she sounded astounded as well and smiled to him. "Are we deprived people?" He guffawed.

"I believe, as long as it is just the two of us, there is no error in it."

"Good Lord, how would one even discuss this with anyone rather than their spouse?" She shook her head.

"Men do. In clubs." He cringed from the memories of some crude conversations he unfortunately bore witness to, mostly obviously participants being in inebriated state. He caught her suddenly attentive cautious eyes, and rushed to reassure her, "Goodness, Wren, I would never!" He scooped her in his arms and pressed her to him, they were lying on their sides, facing each other. "Darling, this… what has just transpired, it is sacred, so wonderful, and as you said, so beautiful! Just for the two of us..." He felt tension leaving her body, and she kissed his lips tenderly.

"Just the two of us..." She murmured, and he caught her enticing red lips, showering her with kisses and caresses, when suddenly she pressed her hand to his shoulder, halting him. "Oh, John, that in actuality brings up another discussion…" He slightly moved away from her and looked at her now serious face.

"Yes, Wren, my darling, what is it?" Her nose twitched in the already familiar nervous gesture, and he stroked her cheekbone with his thumb, trying to show her he was there for her, to support her, he could see she was breaching some sensitive subject.

"A child, John, there is possibility of us two becoming us three, were we to indulge in such pleasure regularly," she inhaled gathering her courage and gave him a direct look into his eyes, "I understand it is the responsibility placed on a woman, and it is not to be discussed, but..."

"Wren, we are not following the common ways, we have decided to be open with each other, and we will," he interrupted her, "Please, tell me your thoughts. I need to know your opinion, and please, be frank with me." She looked at him with gratitude and quickly kissed his cheek.

"There are ways to prevent it, John..." Her cheeks started to burn, but her voice was firm, "Abstinence can be practised, and there are procedures..." She paused and looked at him hoping for support, and he gently pulled her to his lips. Her trust and attempted honesty thrilled him beyond measure, he understood how mortifying and daring talking of such matters must have felt to her, and he passionately thanked Heaven for his marriage taking such shape. It was all he dreamt about, and so much more!

"Darling, we do need to discuss it if this matter worries you. I did have a vague idea that such matters could be controlled, but I will confess ignorance in details. And although it is indeed considered women's obligation to see to such matters, we do seem to have an unusual marriage," he chuckled softly, "Perhaps we could endeavour to preserve our uniqueness in these matters as well. Let us talk openly." He looked into her eyes warmly, and she suddenly lunged ahead, and pressed her face into his neck, her strong slender arm wrapping around his neck.

"Oh John! I feel so blessed right now. I cannot believe my fortune..." He laughed from sheer happiness and the sentimentality of the moment.

"Darling, I have had exactly the same thoughts just a few instants ago." She was now kissing his temple and his ear, peppering small excited caresses on the side of his face, and he cupped the back of her head leading her mouth to his.

After a few minutes of languished sensual caresses he had arrive to two conclusions. Firstly, he needed to find a way to convince his little wife that the common practice of performing marital duties in a nightdress had to be abolished, since all he could think of was how it hid from him her body and how much he craved to press his lips to every inch of her wonderful, silky skin. Secondly, he realised he was becoming aroused again, which surprised him immensely. He would assume his body to be satisfied after such devastating, overwhelming release, and yet, he felt his member semierect and sensitive again.

She moved away from him and whispered shyly, "Darling, could we discuss such matters hastily?"

"Of course, my darling, but why?" He brought his thoughts away from the rising hunger in his body and concentrated on his blushing wife. She chewed on her lip in her common nervous habit.

"The measures women take to prevent conception… They are to be taken soon after the… ejaculation..." He nodded to show her he listened, softly stroking her upper arm. It seemed to help little, she looked increasingly agitated.

"What is it, darling?" He kept his tone gentle, trying to convey how much he wished her to feel comfortable and content. "You can tell me anything."

She shifted her eyes to his chest, hiding them, and whispered, "That is if you do not wish to repeat… the act." His hand froze on her arm, and he gulped. Her eyes flew to his face, and distress coloured her features, "John, I do not know what is acceptable to say, or not, and I feel so horribly embarrassed, and I..."

"Wren, my darling, we should start trusting each other!" In a sudden strike of inspiration he picked her up under her arms, she made a small surprised noise, and he rolled on his back, putting her on top of him. Her giant eyes were in front of his face, and he saw her flushed and mildly terrified face, freckles peppering her delicate nose, and he thought he never loved her more. "My darling, I do indeed feel my desire for you rising again, as you have probably guessed since you are in such proximity to my anatomy, but again, that would only transpire if you are willing. But I also think you were right to raise the question of childbirth now. We should set our mind on the course of our action now, so we could enjoy each other freely, without worry."

Her lashes fluttered and she lowered her head, the crown of her head under his chin, and she splayed her hand on his chest, over his heart.

"I love you , John, I do so ardently..." Her voice was tender, and sincere, and his heart clenched.

"I do love you, Wren." He wrapped his arms around her, his voice trembling, and he whispered, "Be direct with me, my darling, beloved wife."

"I want a child..." He could not see her face, but he felt the gravity and the honesty of her statement, "I want your child. I do not want to take measures against it. I want it to come when it comes..."

She lifted her head, her face coloured in so many emotions. He could see her love, her hesitant trust in him, her hopefulness and how difficult it was for her to assert her desires against everything she had been taught about propriety in women, and he loved her so much more for that. He once again picked her up under her arm and pulled her to his face.

"Yes, yes, Wren my darling, and yes again. I do want a child, and as soon as possible, and darling, thank you!" He rose to catch her lips, but he kept the caress short. Her eagerness he already knew of and her passion, as it was already obvious now, had an immediate and devastating effect on his intellectual abilities, and he needed to reassure and comfort her before his passion took him. "Thank you for being open with me, for allowing such matters to become our shared affair, for loving me..."

"I do, oh John, I do love you..."

Their lips met, bodies intertwined, words turned into moans and gasps, he rolled her underneath his body, his hands and mouth wandered her face, her neck, the beautiful elegant shoulders, and he heard himself begging her for a permission to underdress her, she nodded, and finally the dress was gone. He explored her small silken body, with his lips and his fingers, her minuscule waist, her small breasts, delicate and graceful, and soon she was shaking violently in his hands, grasping his upper arms and biting into her bottom lip. He realised with shock that she was trying to contain noises that were trying to escape her, and he doubled his efforts.

Her collectedness crumbled when he pressed his lips to her hipbone. He felt as if it was the most magnificent discovery, a small round bone under her radiant soft skin, and he could not contain himself. He swirled his tongue on it, she thrashed on the sheets, and a loud coarse cry fell from her lips. Her body went rigid, and he pushed his hands under her buttocks, lifting her to his mouth.

He was mingling kisses with words, "My darling… My life… My wife… Do not deprive me of this… I need your passion… Show me… Don't restrain… Don't hide..."

He felt inebriated, feverish, and he could hardly summon himself how his lips fell on her center, but suddenly he found his mouth pressed to the soft curls, and she arched in his arms, raspy moan and some jumbled words falling from her lips. It felt exquisite, more open and raw than anything he had experience till that moment, and he pressed another kiss to her mound.

And then suddenly she jerked away from him, he acutely felt the emptiness in his arms, but she was already leaping at him, her arms grabbing his shoulders in a bewilderingly strong grasp, and she pulled him over her, her herself stretching on the sheets.

"Please, John, please… Now, please..." She was almost sobbing, and he rushed to her, the same hunger overcoming him, and he thrust into her, met with her legs going around his hips and a lustful moan falling off her lips.

When it was over, he rolled on his back, pulling her into him, wrapping his arms around her, and she sighed contently. He felt sated and drowsy, but there was one little thought nagging at his mind, he remembered her reaching her release the night before, and he wondered whether it was possible for her to achieve the same peak of pleasure in their intimacy. He was fighting his slumber and cleared his throat.

"Wren, darling, I wanted to raise a question..." He looked at her, waiting for her answer, but then he realised she was already asleep. He smiled to her, gazing at her copper curls scattered on her shoulders and his chest, the glow of her pale skin in the dim twilight in the room, her hand splayed on his clavicles, and he closed his eyes. There was always tomorrow, he thought with pleasure, there was always tomorrow's night.

**A/N: Since the whole point of this story was smut, I would say the mischief is managed :) There is still a half written epilogue though… :P**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: My darling ****Just4Me****, this epilogue is for you, and of course Barbara Cartland would be mortified :) **

**Isn't it always **_**They fell in the silken entrapment of sheets **_**with her, and then it's the next chapter, and the heroine awakes **_**in the safety of his embrace**_**? Or worse so, the entrapment of sheets is the last paragraph of the book and a reader wants to yell, BUT WHERE? **

**But there is always Jude Deveraux and her whoohoo :) And yes, I have read plenty of this rubbish myself :)**

EPILOGUE

John entered his house, shaking the snow off his Persian mutton collar, breathing in the pleasant smell of his home, of the wax from the polished floors, fresh linen, fur tree branches decorating the walls, and sweet and spicy fragrance of the Christmas plum pudding that he remembered from his childhood and that now was an established tradition in his home. He took off his top hat and coat and was handing them to Perkins when he heard a faint giggling on the staircase. He looked at the butler and saw the corners of the old servant twitch. Both men industriously ignored the sound that had betrayed the presence of more people in the parlour, and John approached a mirror on the wall and pretended to fix his ascot, while attentively listening to the muffled conversation between two small figures hiding in the shadows of the landing.

"I do not see any parcels."

He heard his son's whisper, and the soft voice of his wife answered, "I am certain, darling, Papa has already hid all your gifts. He is a barrister, darling, it is a profession that requires cunningness and strategic mind. Do you honestly think he'd bring your gifts into the house openly?"

"But, Mama, I have already searched the house," Thomas' voice was undignified, and John clenched his jaw to suppress a smile. "I haven't found anything."

"Which only proves you, my darling, that you have much to learn," John spoke without tearing his eyes from the mirror, and his six year old son yelped. John heard the silver laughter of his wife.

He lifted a lamp, and its light spilled on the landing. They were sitting on the floor, both already in their sleep attires, Thomas in stripy pajamas, his wonderful redhaired wife in a long robe with white crochet nightgown peeking from under it.

"What are you two doing here at this hour?" He feigned strict tone, but quite obviously deceived no one.

"We are waiting for the best Christmas gift there is there in the world," Wren murmured, and he met her shining eyes. He gave her a small lopsided smirk, they both were thinking on the evening that was so dear in their memory, the very first evening of their marital bliss, when she met him on this very landing, throwing her arms around his neck, which lay ground to their later openness, trust and passion for each other.

"Oh, are we?" Thomas' face lit up, and he lifted his bright blue eyes at his father. He looked so much like John, according to family portraits he was an exact replica of his father at the same age, the same line of jaw, dark hair, disobediently curling at the ends, the same eyes. "Is it the pocket knife we saw in that shop window, Mama?" His voice was hopeful, and Wren laughed again.

"No, my duckling, the best Christmas gift is Papa himself." John could never resist the smiling happy face of his wife, he quickly leaned in and placed a fleeting tender kiss on her lips, and then another one, and before they were both in danger of forgetting any propriety, and since their son had already cringed his face in undignified disgust, John straightened up and ruffled Thomas' thick dark curls.

"Do you disagree with me, Thomas?" Wren's voice was mischievous, and the boy sighed.

"I do not, of course Papa is the best Christmas gift, although I have to say the ivory handle on that knife..." He trailed off, sighing wistfully, and Wren suddenly wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into herself, and he was withstanding her caresses stoically, although giving his father pitiful eyes. John laughed, from the spectacle of his beloved family, and from the martyrdom fire splashing in the eyes of his heir. Wren nuzzled her son, and then John heard her quiet whisper.

"Perhaps Saint Nicolas has already considered that knife, my duckling." The boy's head whipped sharply, and he looked at his mother with shiny eyes.

"Alright, to bed, both of you," John ushered them, and they both rushed upstairs, giggling and whispering something to each other. John had some papers to look through, but his wife threw him a look over her shoulder, and he decided most of those matters could be attended to the next day. He quickly walked to his study, locked the files he brought from the city in a safe box, and rushed to the bathroom adjoint to their sleeping quarters.

"Do keep your tie on, please, my darling," Wren's voice from behind the door made him stop in his tracks. Mrs. Thorington had an odd infatuation with her husband's ties, although he would never even consider complaining of it. He jerked off his jacket, washed his hands and face, and hurried into the bedroom. She was sitting on the bed, and he caught a faint citrus aroma in the air.

"Have you been indulging on clementines again, my darling?" John halted in the doorframe, enjoying the view of her slender body in a lace nightdress, pooling around her thighs. The request regarding his tie and the fact that her legs as if accidentally were uncovered by the lace gave him a rather clear picture of what mood he found his wife this evening. He could not say he objected.

"I have, my palate was demanding something sharp and flavourful tonight," a slightly more noticeable accent in her speech, together with the double meaning of her statement, made John feel rather hot, and he quickly sat on the bed, hoping she would already venture in her favourite pursuit.

Small fingers of her little strong hands lay on the white ribbon of his tie, she pulled, and he could not tear his eyes from the slightly open red lips.

"I have a matter to discuss with you, Mr. Thorington," she continued in her soft, almost feline like tone, and he nonchalantly put his hand on one of the delicate knees.

"Do proceed, my darling," he was using his barrister tone, as she would jokingly call it, which was especially inappropriate, considering that his wife had pulled his tie already off his neck and it flew through the bedroom in a rather flamboyant gesture. He chuckled, and with pleasure he watched her little fingers start working on the buttons of his waistcoat. Apparently, she enjoyed his waistcoats, although she claimed she would have to restrict herself and not utter all the compliments to his physique she felt rising in her, according to her, not to overindulge his self-esteem. He cared little about it, he very much prefered talking about her enticing physique.

"Do be so kind as to answer my questions truthfully and without concealing any aspects of the truth, Mr. Thorington," she switched to strict and formal tone, while her hands pushed the waistcoat off his shoulders, and she moved closer to him. His hand was on her thigh already, but he was enjoying the game immensely, and he stroked her skin with his thumb, not venturing higher.

"Are you cross-examining me, Mrs. Thorington?

"Indeed I am, so do care to consider your answers thoroughly, you are after all under the oath." He chuckled, she was indeed following the official procedure. She had become rather knowledgeable in legal proceedings, she claimed she enjoyed watching him in the Parliament, and her elegants hats were quite often seen at the gallery. He was very much grateful for her presence, considering that many of his speeches were written with her assistance. They would spend hours in his study discussing the current affairs, he valued her opinion immensely. "Are you happy in your family life, Mr. Thorington?"

He smiled to her, picked up her hand and pressed her palm to his lips, "Immensely, Mrs. Thorington."

"Do refrain from emotional statements, Mr. Thorington, it is a courtroom, not a gazebo for amorous conversations," she was hardly containing her laughter, the corners of her wonderful mouth pressed in futile attempts to sustain her pretense, and he snorted. She was so clever, so entertaining, so completely enthralling! "So, are you, Mr. Thorington?"

"I am, Mrs. Thorington," he answered pressing his right palm to his chest, over his heart.

"How would you evaluate your experience of fatherhood, Mr. Thorington?" She had started on the buttons of his shirt, her fingertips as if by accident brushing the skin she was uncovering, and he saw her lashes flutter. There was gentle blush rising from the cut of her nightdress, up to her elegant beautiful neck, to her small ears. He was holding on to the shreds of his self-control, but his body craved her, he could almost taste the silky radiant skin on his lips, and he renewed his caresses of her slender hip, his second hand lying on her waist.

"I would say, having a child is rewarding… Heart-warming… Exciting..." She was nodding after his answers, and finally his shirt flew through the room following the tie. He moved towards her, incapable of waiting anymore, but she halted him, her gentle hand pressed to his lips.

"And do you feel, Mr. Thorington, that you would care to repeat the experience?" This time her tone was serious, and he paused to look into her eyes. They were earnest and sincere, and he smiled to her softly. She looked slightly shy, and he nodded to her encouragingly. They had discussed the possibility of having the second child this year, and he quickly leaned in and pressed his lips to her cheek.

"I would say, I would find such endeavour to be the most desirable perspective." She smiled back at him, slight bashfulness disappearing from her features, and he kissed the tip of her nose. "My darling, I have heard that conceiving a child is a rather laborious task. We might have to repeat the required drudgerous chores again and again." She giggled and rubbed her nose to the underside of his jaw. Her glorious orange curls were scattered on her shoulders, her tender little hand was drawing some swirls on the skin of his forearm, and he cupped her face.

She looked at him from under her lashes, and murmured, "Perhaps we need to make it our primary endeavour these days, since this cause indeed is of demanding kind."

"Indeed, and what active steps are you planning to take to propagate our cause, my darling?" He playfully kissed her burning ear.

Her small hand lay over his length, through his trousers, and she applied just the right amount of pressure, and this one small caress was all it took for him to lose his self-possession. He had enough resolve for one last teasing remark.

"Am I allowed to leave the witness box?" His voice was raspy.

"You are," she murmured, and he threw his arms around her and toppled her into the sheets.

Her lips tasted of clementines, and his head swam from the familiar and the most dear sensations. She returned his passionate caresses, her body arching into him, and they quickly divested each other of the remaining garments. With special pleasure he pulled the nightdress off her body, and his eyes roamed her glowing flawless skin in the light of the gaslamp that they never extinguished these days. Quite soon after they had discovered their passion for each other, when the depth of their mutual feelings became known to them, and their intimacy in their marital bed became a frequent and matchless pleasure, they stopped putting out the light. They loved each other, and everything about the other one was beautiful and dear. Many hours had been spent in exploration of each other's bodies, both of them realising quite quickly to their utter shock to have rather extensive appetite when it came to carnal matters. Quite often one of them would remind the other of the slightly childish question Mrs. Thorington asked right after their very first act, whether they were depraved people, and these days they would laugh and readily agree that they indeed were.

John spread his wife's legs, they eagerly went around his waist, and he entered her small beloved body with a low moan, echoed on her lips. Her hands flew into his hair, and he caught her mouth in a deep passionate kiss. He started moving, thrusting into her, still restraining himself, savouring the sensations, and she scraped the back of his head with her short fingers in one his most favourite caresses. They loved each other slowly, caress returned for caress, eyes shining, kisses exchanged, and he felt her legs suddenly grasp around his waist immensely tightly, and she cried out softly, in the abandonment of her release. He joined her quickly, her body trembling in his arms, her lips whispering the words of love, which he readily answered to with equal fervour.

Nine month later their daughter Unna was born, named after Mrs. Thorington's paternal grandmother, and three years later Daniel and Otis joined the Thorington family. John Thorington became the youngest Member of Parliament, a man of impeccable reputation, respected and sought out among his colleagues, while his wife played one of the most prominent roles in the suffragette movement of the era.


End file.
